Lovers Lament
by The Konfessionist
Summary: AU Fic: Winona Parker and Butch DeLoria try to make the best of the aftermath following Chapter 20 of "Inventor's Absolution" when they're forced to abide by the civic duties as residents of Vault 101. ***SPOILERS inside for Inventor's Absolution! There will soon be smut because I'm trash and need practice, eventual M RATING! Valentine's Day fic (sort of)***
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : **I'm trash, sorry not sorry.**

 **This was just a small thing I threw together in light of _Chapter 20_ in my main story involving these characters, Inventor's Absolution** **! Read on at your own risk as the remainder of this author's note, as well as this fic, will contain _major_ story spoilers and if you don't want to ruin such surprises (or want to know what the hell everyone's talking about) please at least read Inventor's Absolution up until _Chapter 19 - Little Talks_ at the _very least_! It's not necessary if you don't care about spoilers but I still recommend it!  
**

* * *

 ** _SPOILER START_ : So in light of the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Initiative pairing Winona and Butch together, I've always had nagging thoughts about what would happen if they went through with the arranged marriage because James decided not to leave the vault for Purity. The start of the first part of this fic involves pieces of dialogue taken from Chapter 19 so it will officially start from the moment in James' office when Winona came to visit him.**

* * *

 **Valentine's Day is also a couple days away, and because I'm bad at romance and sappy stuff (but I still wanted to put up something for the occasion) I quick whipped this up to post for readers. There's another chapter or two to this so don't get to the end and worry that there's nothing to follow! I promise there will be! Please review so I know you're interested in seeing more ;)  
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 **So without further ado, enjoy the story! And if you like more holiday stuff, check out my Christmas fic with these two dorks, Yuletide Yearnings from some Christmas cheer and fuzzies.**

 **Happy reading, happy writing!  
**

 **~Konfessionist signing out**

* * *

 **August 16th, 2277**

" _I had to come and see you."_

Her statement struck the doctor with a nervous dagger—did she know he was leaving?

" _I dunno, I had a weird feeling—something just told me to come see you."_

He _knew_ he'd reveal too much to her.

" _Things like how I'm not going to be around forever, Nona."_

They'd talk about outside, and then he'd explain that he was a scientist, and then he would have to tell her—

" _...Promise me you're not going anywhere."_

— _want_ to tell her—

" _I won't be around to hold your hand forever, and when the time **does** come that I'm gone, I don't want you to be unprepared for it. I don't want it to hurt you like—..."_

—all about Project Purity and the good that they were trying to accomplish.

" _...Like how it hurt you when mom died."_

Then he would want to bring her with him.

" _Butch and I talked about this. About staying together and going through with the marriage."_

At that moment, it was only them and not even _leaving_ mattered.

" _Dad—... do you ever have that feeling that—"_

 **I am Alpha and Omega**

"— _It's like the 'beginning of the end'?"_

 **The beginning, and the end.**

" _Like—Like everything is going up in flames around you—"_

 **I will give unto him that is athirst**

"— _because it's building up to—"_

 **Of the fountain of the water of life**

"— _something—"_

 **Freely.**

" _ **Worse?**_ "

The door remained open after Winona left his office, and he only had a mere moment to torture his thoughts with exchanged words of their conversation before Jonas entered, lingering near the doorway silently for the doctor to speak up. James thought of Catherine's smile, the rapidly dimming look in her eyes when she departed from her earthly being, the mournful look in Madison's face despite the hateful words she cut him with, and that last glance he took over his shoulder to the Wasteland before Vault 101 closed him in with his screaming infant and a couple of escort guards. Paladin Cross remained on the other side in her civilian attire, which was off-putting in comparison to her clean cut looks of a soldier and the massive modified sledgehammer on her back, planting a curled fist against her chest with the muttered blessing of ' _Steel be with you_ '.

When he finally looked to his assistant, there was a knowing look in the younger man's eyes that almost condemned James.

Despite all their planning and hard work, the years of experiments run in secret and all the precautions they utilized, the challenges they faced in fixing time cards and avoiding Security, the good work they did in the name of Project Purity...

Jonas knew he wasn't going to leave.

The last conversation he had with his child confirmed his fears—her being _forced_ to go through with the marriage to Butch DeLoria, even though they were trying to take control of something so far out of their hands. He meant it when he said it felt like she was playing with fire. What else could be done? It was an untameable situation that seemed even out of Alphonse's control and it was burning everything in it's wake, making blackened marks upon everything that could never be removed.

Winona, the light of his life, needed him now more than ever. He couldn't bring himself to leave knowing the fate that would come upon her down in Vault 101; if Alphonse had any authority or even _say_ in how the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Initiative would pan out, sooner or later his daughter would be forced to succumb to the duties that were expected of a _female_ resident, unless she was saved by some miracle. Perhaps escaping with her wasn't such a selfish choice in light of that realization after all—of course it was a terrifying world out there full of things that were bred to want to hurt her, but at least she had _freedom._ At least she could have found love outside of the arms of someone she once despised, under the guise of a forced civic duty.

James had also heard that Amata, _Alphonse's own daughter,_ tried to convince him of the same thing... obviously to no avail.

"What're you gunna do, doc?" Jonas asked quietly as he finally stepped up to the desk. "You thought about—... maybe taking her with you?"

"...I can't...what was I even _thinking,_ Jonas? In trying to leave?" He lamented in response as he reclined back into his office chair, removing his glasses to toss them on top of his desk and then he pressed the heel of his palm to his eye in exhaustion. "Even if I could make this work again, Project Purity can't be revived without the team and I don't know if Madison is still in D.C.. I don't know if she's _alive._ I don't know if _anyone_ is still alive, and if they are, if they're even willing to return. I betrayed them by leaving but what choice did I have?"

"You did it for the kid—and I hate to break it to you, James, but she's an adult now. Whatever happens with this Initiative is out of our hands, and you being here isn't going to change what could happen. She's pretty resolved about how she thinks she wants this to play out with DeLoria."

"I don't know what she's trying to _do..._ what good she's hoping will come from all that."

"Look—the point is this is her choice, and you know what? It's probably picking the lesser of so many evils. You can't hold yourself responsible for whatever decisions she makes for herself in light of this, even if we don't agree or even like it." Jonas sighed with a meek shake of his head.

"How can I not feel responsible for her well being? Knowing that she's going through with this nauseating farce I can't just _leave,_ what kind of father would I be? I can't abandon her now when she needs me most."

"You're not _abandoning_ her, doc."

"Then what would you call it?"

"...I dunno." Jonas replied silently with his hand finding the back of his neck as he averted his eyes in thought. "But trust me, it isn't _that._ Project Purity is important to you and you can't hold yourself hostage to what's happening down here. If you do, you're never gonna recover."

"Jonas—..." James sighed with some measure of frustration, trying to gather the appropriate words on his tongue. "Project Purity isn't more important than my child. If it was, then I would still be out there trying to make a dying dream work—a dream that, in the end, people stopped believing in. I made a decision when I entered 101 to stand by Winona no matter what, and I promised Catherine I'd do whatever it takes to protect her. She needs me now and I couldn't take her outside, I couldn't _do_ that to her... hell, I probably wouldn't fair any better myself now—after sitting comfortably in the luxuries of a Pre-War time capsule for 20 years. I've gotten old and—... and sentimental."

"I think there's a word specifically for that." The younger man quipped in an effort at a lighthearted joke.

" _Jonas,_ " He sighed.

"Just think about this _carefully,_ alright? If that's all you could do for yourself, then do that." Jonas ushered cautiously. "We still have a couple weeks until the great escape so you've got time to really think about this. You want my honest opinion?"

"Always, my friend."

"If you don't at least _try_ to resurrect Project Purity, I think you're going to regret it. _**Really**_ regret it."

"I know I will," James responded blandly as he rose from his reclined chair and skirted around his desk to the technician's side. "But at the end of the day—... she's more than worth it."

"...So your decision's final, huh?" He muttered.

"As final as the grave." James responded assuredly but it was lightly threaded by a bleak tone.

His assistant nodded in understanding despite the pursing of his mouth, like he had something else he wanted to say. It was thickly swallowed back, however, when he clapped a hand on the doctor's shoulder silently, as if in offering his condolences, and then left the office without another ushered word. When James turned back to his desk he picked up a framed picture he had of Winona; it was his favorite photo of her as it was her graduation portrait, and she had a beaming smile on her face with eyes alight in the same way Catherine's would come alive when she tried to conceal her pride. Her dimples were so prominent then and his finger idly traced the photo's frame... he knew he loved that photo so much because she looked _so much_ like Catherine in it, it was reassuring and yet unnerving all in one touching photo.

The good doctor could have chalked up his sudden withdrawal from their plans being an act of the proverbial 'cold feet', and perhaps it was, but something about the conversation he had with his daughter struck him with a poignant realization; a lot of his plans once emerging topside all relied on whether or not everyone was still alive, around, or _willing_ to return to Project Purity side by side with him. Not to mention if James survived long enough to find where everyone scattered after the loss at Jefferson Memorial, because he really had gotten along in his age and he definitely wasn't as fit as he used to be.

James truly believed that the only way Purity could survive a second attempt was if the main scientists from the original team would return for a second try, regardless of Brotherhood backing (although that would most definitely be welcome).

If Agincourt was still around being his old prickly self, he doubt the man would want to come back unless James could convince Madison firstly... but in that way, his old friend would be even harder than him to appease. Out of everyone in the project he wronged her the most in leaving, even if it was for the good of Winona. In part his exit also catered to the selfishness in his mourning over Catherine, his anxiety over the lack of successful results, and with how the Brotherhood of Steel were surely abandoning them he'd much rather let the mutants keep Jefferson than face head on the destruction of the dream he and Catherine had devoted so much of themselves to.

There were so many factors in play back then in his leaving, but most of the time it was difficult to remind himself that it really wasn't his fault. There was a lot he ran away from back then, that he wanted to flush from his conscious thoughts by constantly burying himself in paperwork, constantly working long hours instead of being home, constantly _drinking_ back then. Vault 101 wasn't just protecting his child, but it was also shielding him from all that heartbreak. James had always been an emotionally weak man and he knew that.

Catherine was more than just his partner in life—she really was his better half. She was stronger, patient, nurturing and kind, brave, and seemed to be the one thing that kept Purity afloat in the face of all the failures and naysayers. She was the only one who stayed optimistic right up until the bitter end and every member of the team silently appreciated her for it... James didn't realize until much later that he wasn't the only one who lost a valued companion back then.

He finally laid Winona's graduation photo face down on his desk—unable to stand seeing Catherine's face a moment longer, unable to face another addition to his regrets for the good of his daughter.

* * *

 **August 20th, 2277**

The 'wedding' day had been scheduled much sooner than anyone was told—much sooner than the original set date of September 1st.

The inventor stepped into the atrium with her father and Jonas on either side of her, lethargy clinging to her bones in what felt like an unshakable straight jacket because what was sleep the day before your forced wedding? For the next week the atrium would be sparsely decorated for shotgun ceremonies with only a few rows of chairs for attendees and the officiator's podium, which was pinned with white draping ribbons and fake pale yellow roses. Winona regarded the scene with some distaste, as it added to the already revolting situation and she found even the mild decorations to be in poor taste; how did the Overseer think it was a good idea to even _attempt_ turning the travesty into some formal event through it all? She definitely would've preferred having to sit beside Butch and sign the paperwork than include herself in this whole debacle with exchanging wedding bands mass produced by maintenance in recent days, and being told that she had to partake in the Trade.

The Trade was a long held Vault 101 tradition where a couple on their wedding day would exchange their most valued possession with the other. The Trade was supposed to symbolize their lifelong devotion to the other person, as well as showing trust in allowing them to have such a sentimental belonging of their partner's. The inventor always found the ritual to be rather touching at it's core, but in a situation like this?

She and Butch already discussed over Pip-Boy chat that they weren't doing that, so she showed up with nothing and expected him to do the same whenever he arrived.

"Are you absolutely _sure_ that you want to go through with this, Winona?" Her father asked in a voice that was gently trying to dissuade her. "We can take this to the Overseer and overturn it."

"Yeah, kiddo—I've got my torches around here somewhere if you feel like leading a mob, because I know I do." Jonas tacked on humorously. His go-to responses in any case where he was anxious but trying to be supportive was cracking jokes. She chuckled anyways just to humor him but her dad only looked exhausted with a small shake of his head, his fingers pressing into his closed eyes.

"I'll leave that to cross off my bucket list another day when I'm not getting married." She replied as cheerily as she could manage.

" _Nona,_ I'm serious about this. You still have a chance to change your mind." Her dad interrupted with a much firmer voice than the one he utilized before. His grayed brow crinkled over his hazel eyes where absolute dread lurked in them.

In recent days he was beginning to look more and more like his age, which was worrying. Something about that terrified and helpless look he gave her made her throat tighten and her heart grow heavy. It wounded her more than this whole frivolous display, and she idly glanced to the officiator at his podium—Officer Kendrick, who was on temporary suspension from Security—thumbing through his copy of the bible. He looked like he was trying not to listen to the conversation between the three and she caught his eyes ducking from hers right when she happened to look up.

"Dad, I'm _fine._ I'm fine with all this and so is Butch." There was more she wanted to say, but she knew if she said anything further she'd divulge too much.

Of _course_ they were both terrified by the marriage, but telling herself that she was completely okay was the only thing that kept her from second guessing her choice to go through with the union; if she refused to go through with the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Initiative at all, she could only imagine what kind of punishment the Overseer's wrath would incur. She made the realization a very long time ago the she was never going to be in love, she was never going to be happily married with someone she _wanted_ to start a family with, and she made her peace with that shortly after coming to terms with the fact that she no longer loved Freddie. This all came before discovering his philandering with Susie Mack.

Winona knew that her dad and Jonas were just trying to protect her, but their constant prodding of ' _are you fine?_ ' was drawing her toward a panic attack. The less she thought about it, the better she could handle everything.

So when the atrium door opened and their eyes pivoted toward the intruder, she forced herself to swallow the lump rising in her throat like a scream when Butch DeLoria strut into the room. Something about how lax he looked calmed her down a little, as if his mere presence was some kind of comforting force to her; but when she saw the tension in his eyes the closer he came to them, it only sent her nerves skyrocketing to insurmountable levels once more.

"I'm gonna talk to Butch," She muttered to her father before gesturing to the Tunnel Snake to stay put. He did so at the door, rocking back on a heel as he idly glanced around the atrium in wait for her to come over. "I'll be right back."

Her dad let her go to Butch with very little fuss and the two stepped back through the door from where he just entered, standing out in the hallway. Not until the door shut behind them, leaving Jonas and her dad watching them with mildly forlorn looks when they thought she wasn't looking, did she finally speak up.

"Where's your mom?" Winona asked. "Isn't she coming?"

"Nah," Butch replied in a slightly wounded voice that he tried to conceal behind some measure of bravado. She knew without him having to explain why Ellen wasn't there—she probably wasn't sober enough for him to want her there, especially with her own family present to judge.

"...I'm sorry, Butch."

"Hey, no skin off my nose... rather she not be here, anyway. This whole thing's screwy." He shrugged idly. His mother was probably the only thing he could have during the ceremony that would ground him, and here she was lucky to have men like her dad and Jonas at her back while she signed her life away.

Winona didn't feel sorry because she knew how much Butch hated pity, _especially_ from her with their history, but her heart went out to him; she'd offer the support of her own family but for her dad to be cordial with him was as likely as rainfall in the vault.

"This is it. You ready? Or—... are you having second thoughts at all—?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," He popped the collar on his jacket casually, but the tension in his eyes took a flying leap before simmering. "Damn, don't wig me out or anythin', girl."

She knew him well enough to recognize that he was coping by pretending he wasn't bothered at all. It was a telltale defense mechanism of his. When Winona remained silent as if quietly accusing him of something, he pretended not to notice the condemning nature of her stare, and she was suddenly hit with the instinct of wanting to comfort him if he'd willingly do the same for her.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just—alright, I—I've been thinking about this all morning, and I didn't get _any_ sleep last night and I'm actually _kinda_ freaking out—"

"What? _Why?_ " His eyes snapped back up toward her. "You're not backin' out, are 'ya?"

"No, no, no! I—! _Maybe_ , I don't know." She groaned miserably with a step away from him, the heels of her palms clapped over her eyes. "I don't _know._ Dad's been telling me all morning that I don't have to go through with it if I don't want to _,_ and Jonas won't stop asking me if I'm _fine_ and God dammit I thought I was, but I'm _not._ I'm not—... _I'm not_ _ **okay.**_ "

"You're not chicken shittin' your way outta this," He responded rigidly with a shake of his head. "I ain't letting 'ya, Parker."

"I—what're you _saying?_ " Her eyes rounded in horror as she spun back on her heel to face him, her mind sparking with nothing but vexed confusion. "Are you saying that you expect me to go through with this even if I didn't want to? I—I thought we had a _deal._ We agreed that if one of us changed our minds we'd go to the Overseer for a rematch, no questions asked!"

"I'm makin' you do this 'cause you're acting like a fucking moron!" His hands came from out of his pockets in an angry gesture. "You know what you're doin'? You're psyching yourself out like you brainy types _always_ do! Nothin' else _changes_ after today! Just 'cause we're doing this doesn't mean shit anywhere else but on paper, you're worried 'bout nothing!"

"I can't _believe_ that I'm hearing this from you," Winona cried with her brow furrowed tightly over her eyes and she barked back in a severe tone. "You are **_not_** strong-arming me into this if I say no!"

"Well, 'ya haven't said _no,_ now, have 'ya, Smartmouth?" Butch's neck was beginning to flush red and she could see the nerves in his eyes being ignited, one by one, as his trademark anger began to flush through him.

"Why are you _being_ like this? I thought _you_ out of everyone would understand me," The admission was spat from her mouth as if it left a sour aftertaste and his eyes softened though his expression remained firmly set in it's cold look, as if he were forcing himself to remain unreadable.

With a shake of her head, she moved to storm past him back toward the atrium door.

"If that's how you think you can treat me, than I'm _not_ doing this. I'm calling the whole thing off. I can't believe we ever thought we'd make it work—!"

Winona yelped out when Butch's hand latched onto her shoulder, spinning her about to face him before she could even take another step. She was suddenly being pinned back against the nearest wall with just enough force for her to realize that it was a _suggestion_ that she not go anywhere, but he wasn't going to bar her from leaving if she really wanted to. Once her back hit the wall, she was trapped between his arms as his hands planted themselves above each of her shoulders and his stare aligned with hers straight on, leaving her transfixed and surely too stunned to want to avert her eyes. Though her mouth was parted to speak she couldn't fathom a single thing to say—any possible questions were strangled and left to die in her throat when she saw the protective expression on his grimacing face and the incensed glimmer to his narrowed eyes.

His arms were shaking on either side of her as he leaned in like he was going to tell her something meant to be kept as a dire secret.

This wasn't a side of Butch DeLoria she was familiar with.

This was the side of Butch DeLoria that had made itself known only once, and that was when Wally Mack assaulted her.

" _If I let you walk away from this and you got put with_ _ **Stevie Mack,**_ _I'd_ _ **never**_ _fuckin' forgive myself._ " Butch spoke in a tight voice low in volume, sounding dangerous—almost mildly threatening—like it was a _promise_ he could never turn his back on. " _You hear me, Parker? 'Ya know what he'd do to you? What he'd let_ _ **Wally**_ _do t'ya? You_ _ **don't**_ _wanna hear the things Wally said he'd do if he had_ _the chance and not a camera on him._ "

" _Butch—..._ " She replied in equal whisper, her shock keeping her from saying anything of substance.

"I'm stupid enough for the both of us, I ain't need _you_ to be actin' stupid, too." He responded as he leaned back away with his shaking arms dropping from around her, allowing her to go free finally. His eyes, which couldn't lift to meet hers as if he were ashamed, looked more harbor gray under the fluorescent lighting and the off-blue shade matched the stormy expression in his eyes too perfectly.

"You are _not_ stupid," Winona strongly countered as she remained pressed back against the wall, watching his face. "...I thought you were staying so you wouldn't get put with Beatrice. Why didn't you just tell me it was because of me?"

"'Cause then 'ya woulda gotten all 'Goody-Goody Two Shoes' about it and probably tried t'break it off because you _felt bad_ or whatever," He responded with an exasperated shake of his head and his gaze lifted toward the automatic door that led into the atrium. "You're always doin' shit like that."

"I do _no_ —"

"If you're gunna try and deny it, don't bother," Butch snorted his response as if he found it somewhat funny and finally looked to her. The tension from earlier was gone from his eyes, replaced with newfound purpose as if he recognized what the hell he was doing there, about to marry his ex-arch nemesis. He was nearly smiling. "Can read you like a damn book, girlie."

"...Like I believe you ever stepped foot into the library _willingly._ " She retorted halfheartedly instead and he fully grinned at that, shaking his head.

"See, and _I_ wanted t'blow this damn tub open but _nooo_ , you were a Goody-Two-Shoes about that, too! Bet _Amata_ woulda helped me, even." He continued to tease and she slowly felt the anxiety leech itself from her body, disappearing somewhere faraway as she laughed at the dramatic gestures and expressions he made while he talked.

"We'll leave the anarchy for another day. Jonas wants to start a mob if you'd care to join, though."

"No shit, _really?_ I'd be down. What's the Doomsday count down on that?"

"I dunno, but he says he already has the torches—so I think you guys just need to decide on whether or not you'd all wear matching outfits. Looks like you might've got that all figured out already, though." Winona responded as she pointed between their matching vault jumpsuits and Butch laughed in a heartfelt way. She liked hearing that particular laugh from him because it was rare, and she felt elation in knowing she could make it happen. It was a rare time where he felt wholesomely genuine, untroubled, and unguarded around her.

"So—..." He began uncertainly when their collective laughter died away. "You wanna go back t'not changin' your mind at all or what, Parker?"

"Like I have a choice if you have anything to say about it," She replied lightheartedly and with a small smile. "Let's go get married. Quick question, though."

"Shoot, girl."

"If they make us kiss—? To ' _seal the deal_ '?"

"...How 'boutta handshake?" Butch swiftly resolved for the both of them.

"Too formal."

"What if it's a really _cool_ handshake, though?"

"It'd have to be a super long and confusing one because I _refuse_ to leave that atrium until everyone in there is as uncomfortable as we are. Like, at _least_ until my dad clears his throat in that weird way that he does. Or Jonas makes an awful joke, whatever happens first."

"Shit, we ain't got time t'plan for that."

"...You think the officiator would settle for a fist bump?"

Butch grinned finally. "He's gunna have to."

* * *

 **August 20th, 2077 (cont'd)**

Winona busied herself about her apartment in a flurry of panic with random possessions under one arm—dirty laundry, her tool satchel, a small trash bag for scattered snack cake wrappers and empty Nuka-Cola bottles—and in her opposite hand she read from a thick, laminated packet as she bustled about, picking up more garbage, aligning the chairs to the dinner table, and trying not to drop more heavy tools from her tool bag when it unfurled again.

The packet was titled; " _ **The Official Vault-Tec Certified Booklet on How to Retain a Prosperous Union**_ " and _yes,_ that was the full title. Under the extremely wordy header was a graphic of a housewife in a gingham apron taking a hot pie from the oven, a husband just come home from work sitting before a delicious pot roast dinner at the table, and two blonde-haired children, a little boy and girl, sat on the kitchen floor with the beloved family dog. It looked like it was a lovingly painted portrait, more for a crowd of art critics than deserving to be slapped onto a pamphlet that should've been called; " _ **How to Navigate a Marriage You Did Not Want Nor Ask For**_ ".

Just as wordy but twice as honest.

But that wasn't all. The booklet was a _trilogy_ , with addendum books under the same ' _ **Official Vault-Tec Certified**_ ' handle with the following titles of; " _ **Wedded Life for a Doting Wife**_ ", and " _ **The Rule Book on Ruling Your Household**_ ", respectively written for the wife and the husband. The booklet she was currently reading was written with the both of them in mind as a collective unit, and the things that were expected of them not only as a couple, but as their duty in being residents of Vault 101 and having to provide the next generation of 101'ers.

Winona read certain verses aloud when she couldn't believe what was written in front of her—still continuing to hurriedly clean her messy apartment as she did, as if she weren't conscious of doing so despite frantically working.

" _Married couples are expected to utilize the first week of their union as efficiently as possible! We call this the '_ _ **Honeymoon Week**_ ' _where new couples are allowed time off from work and other responsibilities so that they may spend valuable time together in the glow of their recent nuptials. During this week, couples are expected to bond, to participate in fun activities or similar hobbies of interest together, share their meals and a single bed, and to—ultimately—get started on creating the little birds that will soon fill their nest!_ "

She made an exaggerated retching noise upon the last sentence, her thumb bookmarking the page so she wouldn't lose it while she continued striding about her apartment to tidy. It was absolutely unbe _liev_ able that it was expected for them to spend their first week of ' _marriage'_ together, with the Overseer's camera eye trained on her door to ensure that they'd cater to the procreation of their _'residential duties'_ for the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Initiative.

It was almost funny. In times like this Winona hated her sense of dark humor, but it was a small comfort for the time being.

However, for that very reason—of them having to spend a week together with no interruptions, work, or other responsibilities to attend to—Winona was cleaning up her pigsty of an apartment for their little slumber party. Her home wasn't _dirty,_ but it was constantly disorganized, and ever since she was forced into the volunteer program (as her deal to get out of jail dictated), it had only gotten out of hand. She was too tired to do anything let alone pick up after herself, but at the same time, she didn't understand how her living space had become _so much more chaotic_ when she was barely around to even _make_ the mess!

"Intercom, time!" She called out the command as she bustled back to her bedroom to distribute her dirty laundry into the bin, drop her tool satchel (and single tools that came free) onto her workbench, and dropped the garbage bag in the corner for later.

" _ **Time is the 20 of August, in the year 2277, at 20:39 P.M.**_ " The intercom chimed in reply. It was a crafty invention of her own creation, which followed basic commands implemented by her and would repeat the answer back accordingly. She could ask for the date and time, align plans that it would calendar for her (since she was so bad at keeping track of such things), or even ask what the diner menu was offering that day for lunch. It was very handy for when her hands were full of tools, or covered in grease or paint, or she didn't have the time to go to the cafeteria to check if the dinner menu was spaghetti or casserole.

But if the intercom was right, and it surely was, Butch would be arriving at any minute and the living room was barely made up. Winona went to the couch and pulled the cushions off of it to try and pull out the metal bed frame tucked underneath. He would be sleeping on it during the course of the week. It wouldn't unfold due to extreme disuse, and only squeaked stubbornly the more she pulled. She momentarily turned her attention back to the booklet in her opposing hand as she tried to keep yanking with one hand.

" _For new couples who are potentially unaware of the freedom and satisfaction they're allowed during intercour—_ wait, what the hell—yadda yadda— _instructions provided with helpful pictures—_ blah, blah, blah— _please turn to page 42—_ " Winona did as she was told and turned to some of the final few pages, her eyebrows skyrocketing to her white hairline. "...Ye- _uuup._ Those are graphically detailed sex positions. _Wow_ , okay."

The inventor clapped the book shut upon being startled by the door buzzer being hit repeatedly. Tossing it onto the dinner table, she quickly went to the door and pulled the hair tie from her curls to fix them up from their messy bun as best she could. After fussing with the preening for some time to look more presentable, the buzzer rang again in impatience and she resolved leaving her hair in a high ponytail before opening the door. Butch DeLoria stood on the other side with an open-mouthed box in his arms and a sarcastic comment balanced on the tip of his tongue.

"Took your sweet time," He grumbled before a teasing smirk came to his face. "Playin' hard t'get, Parker?"

"You think you're cute, _don't you?_ " She laughed with a cocked eyebrow and allowed him to come into the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

" _The cutest._ " Butch remarked as he took a detour to the dining table to drop off the box in his possession.

"Watcha got?" Winona asked from somewhere behind him. He pulled from the carry box a couple plastic trays of steaming food under clear container lids and set them on the table.

"Hot fudge sundae, so how 'bout you shuddup and eat it?" He joked as he dropped the plasticware with it. He couldn't believe it when they were told at the end of their mock ceremony (marked by a _super_ awesome fist bump that even made Kendrick, the officiator, laugh awkwardly) that they were expected to even go through with the bullshit 'Honeymoon Week'.

It wasn't like anything was going to happen between them, but he felt _severely_ uncomfortable at being in Winona's apartment, and for the next long week no less. He was anxious that his mom would basically be by herself (even though he could go and visit at any time, it wasn't like he was imprisoned here), he was anxious having to sleep in an unfamiliar space, he was anxious about what people were going to _gossip_ about. Out of the many matches calculated through the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Initiative, it seemed like everyone had their eyes _specifically_ set on them, setting bets and matching them for how long the two could go without killing the other and chopping them up into small pieces. He hadn't talked to Paul in days leading up to the ceremony for some comfort from his best friend, and Wally was lurking around somewhere else with no intentions of wanting to talk. After the results came out Butch saw him less and less—he was still ego bruised from when the gang leader protected Winona and made his den brother realize the two made an alliance ride under his big beak nose—so now if they saw each other in the halls Wally only made a hissing jab of ' _traitor'_ before walking on like the big chicken he was.

Butch knew the guy would never have the balls to do anything but name call in passing (which was a good thing because he'd readily kidney-punch his best friend if he tried starting a fight), but in some complicated and foreign way, he wanted his brother back. He _hated_ that they were still fucking fighting over some trivial bullshit, he hated that Wally held onto his grudges because he had an _extremely_ fragile pride while also having a massive ego, he hated that everything was too convoluted for them to just call it a truce and grab a beer.

Now that he and Winona were officially forced into marriage, he knew his chance in convincing Wally to call the whole fight off had efficiently been slimmed. That scared the gang leader because he knew Wally's wrath would only manifest to Allen Mack levels, and then he'd do something dangerous. Calculated because he was too smart for his own damn good, but nonetheless dangerous.

"How about you _bite me_?" Winona responded to his sundae comment with a jeering laugh, followed by her labored grunting and a shrill squeak of what sounded like rusty metal which made his skin crawl over his bones.

When Butch turned to snap back at her, his jaws immediately clacked shut when his eyes connected with her backside. The first thing he saw was her bare back through the open window of an old gray t-shirt cut and styled into a sleeveless halter—which tied behind the neck and the middle of her back. Her warm, sepia coloring left dappled freckles barely visible on her shoulders as if they'd been been made from a sunny day long ago, and the contours of her shoulder blades and back strained in pulling the couch bed's frame to an unfolded position. His eyes panned over the back of her lithe neck as the length of her ponytail draped over her shoulder and down her front in a spill of white curls. His eyes returned to sculpting down the curve of her freckled back in her bent over position and down, slowly down, _further_ down, as if willingly tormenting himself, to visually cup her rear.

 _Parker's got an ass on her,_ the Tunnel Snake mused wantonly with a small side cock of his head as he continued to, rather openly, appreciate the shape of her hips to her ass. When his eyes skimmed back up her naked back, she straightened up from the couch with a puzzled huff with her hands framing her hips and he managed to catch a coy peek of the petite side curve of her breast where the material relaxed, letting him peep.

She wasn't wearing a bra and _God_ that was an engaging memory for later use. Butch would've been mildly perplexed if he wasn't so distracted by the instinct of wanting to see more (and happily visualizing it, too) because it was such an innocuous moment that he didn't know how it was igniting a crushing rush of heat clean through his body. The inventor wasn't trying to seduce him, she wasn't dolled up, she wasn't dressed provocatively, she was just _standing_ there in a cut up shirt with her hair uncaringly styled and he wanted nothing more than to fireman carry her to the bedroom and make her sing his name like it was her favorite bible verse.

"Careful, girl. Might take that as an invitation" Butch ventured upon her earlier snap of ' _bite me'_ and her chin turned toward her shoulder to stare back at him. A smirk of triumph framed his mouth upon seeing the flush tinting the apples of her cheeks but the brazen look in her face didn't falter any. Her hazel eyes only came alive as if she saw through him and could see what he was thinking, rising to a challenge she wasn't above playing, and there was something sultry—knowing and toying and almost minxy—about the smile that slowly tugged at her lips to her forming dimples.

 _Fuck_ the bed, he'd barely manage to get her bent over the kitchen table if she kept looking at him like that with those damn dimples of hers.

"Easy, _King Snake._ " She responded with some measure of coyness that snapped at his arousal with a cracking whip.

Butch never had to play this game before—the game of a sexually torturous chase—as Dolly was always willing, wanting, _waiting_ and painfully obedient when he had needs that had to be satiated and he couldn't completely tell if Winona wanted to ride him like a jet ski in a hurricane or not. When he was with the inventor he could translate every look, light in her eye, twist of her expression, and subtle curve to her smirk as if he were trained to understand them automatically, but at the same time there were rare moments where he felt unsure and didn't _like_ that he was unsure of what thoughts were grinding away behind her honey-colored stare. That look alone could pin him like nothing else could and it left him with an unfulfilled desire of wanting to please her.

Sex with Dolly was run of the mill; eventually her body was tuned like an instrument he knew how to play without trying, a romp was a race to the finish line only for himself because most of the time he had only his own finish in mind, and she just didn't mind being along for the ride. Nights with her were hot but not enticing, hurried and not at all intimate, messy and not sexy, and when they were finished he'd roll over and she'd curl up into his side with a giggle and blissful smile relaying some self-congratulatory remark to herself on her own performance.

But in that moment when Winona tucked her hair back out of her eyes and behind her ear, turning away from him with the dimpled smirk still on her face, and bent over to pick up sofa cushions off the floor when the couch bed remained unwilling so he unabashedly stared at her shapely ass once again, he was struck by an abrupt realization; he would do _**anything**_ just to hear her praise if she allowed him just one chance. He'd follow her demands to the last letter, down on his knees with a grin on his face, turning her sexual satisfaction into an upheld priority as if there was nothing more he could want out of life than making her eyes roll into delirium, her toes curl at the end of her trembling legs, and her throat turn hoarse from her shrill demands of ' _more'._ Exercising himself in the vices of her slender body, becoming so well-versed it what would make her completely undone, would be his new favorite hobby.

There was pride in fucking Dolly and making her come, sure.

But it was almost _noble_ that he'd carry Winona to the edge of starry-eyed oblivion, even if he wouldn't be allowed to follow.

Butch always had thoughts of having sex with her, especially at the height of his puberty when he still had feelings for her and hadn't finally given up to a pawing Dolly, but they were never this explicit—never this lustful or intense—never this _biting_ where he thought she'd unknowingly drive him insane if he didn't get to act on those desires with her.

"Bed won't come out so you're on your own on my little couch. You mind?" She explained as she replaced all the cushions efficiently, patting them back into place with smoothing hands and then turned back to him with her hands on her hips once more—unaware of the thoughts that were probably _clearly_ written all over his face, as he was unguarded in his day dreaming of being trapped between her thighs.

"Whatever." He responded plainly before pulling up a chair at her table and spun it around backwards, swinging a leg over to sit with his arms folded over the top of the chair's backing. He slid her meal tray to the seat closest to his with her own collection of plasticware and then popped the top on his own food.

Winona sat beside him without complaint, much to his satisfaction, and took a couple leisurely moments to untie her hair. When she gathered back up the wild curls in an attempt to tame them, her arms arching over her head with deft hands smoothing away wild baby curls that framed her forehead and eyes, Butch allowed himself another lecherous peek at how her body twisted before him with the arch of her back and the rise of her delicate breasts.


	2. Chapter 2

****Day One – Morning****

Winona tossed and turned in bed, shutting her eyes and opening them, curling up on her side before flipping onto her stomach with her face buried against her pillows. She contemplated just suffocating herself into sleep more than once for the last two hours if it was going to continue being so difficult.

The inventor couldn't get out of her head the fact that Butch DeLoria was just in the next room—in her living room, lounging on her couch—and would _remain_ there for 7 days. She wondered what they would even _do_ over the next week until the ' _Honeymoon_ ' was over; when they wouldn't be hounded by some investigator for the Overseer to ensure that they spent time together. Winona figured that if the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Initiative was _this_ heavy-handed with the paperwork, the mock wedding ceremonies, the booklets with _suggestions for optimal sex positions for baby making,_ than they'd be outright asked if they engaged in intercourse—and probably with very little tact, that being said.

She didn't look forward to the end of the week now that she thought about what it'd entail... with that it mind, it made this week off from her enforced community service, with _no_ expectations made of her other than to stay at home with Butch, made her feel better about the here and now.

Winona still couldn't sleep, however, despite her frayed nerves reweaving themselves, and so snapped up in bed with her fingers ruffling through her thick curls. She looked to the open doorway of her bedroom that connected to her living room with a thought of climbing out of bed to see if Butch was still awake. Instead she turned onto an elbow, leaning toward her nightstand, and turned on her Pip-Boy—which she had retired for the night—but only to check the time and was momentarily blinded by the bright green light before she could readjust her vision through squinting.

 **02:33 AM.**

Her Pip-Boy was dropped back onto it's stand to recharge and she pulled herself up toward the headboard of her bed so she could sit more upright. Her eyes flittered towards the open doorway to the living room once more and she bit her bottom lip in thought.

The bedroom door had been left open for Butch's benefit; she told him if he needed anything like extra pillows or blankets, towels for the communal bathroom, even a midnight snack he could come and wake her up.

She probably would've been awake, anyway, trying to quietly tinker on something as not to disturb him.

But she didn't hear any noise coming from the opposite room; not a snore or the drowsy sounds of dreamland. He was either a silent sleeper or he was lying awake on her couch, unable to sleep, too.

Winona threw the thin bed sheet off of her bare legs (her apartment was set so far back in the living quarter's that the vault's temperature control took a while to get cool air to her) and swung her legs out of bed to patter silently across the warm floor toward the living room. Upon passing through the doorway, she meekly peeked toward her couch to see Butch strung out on the length of it on his back.

Indeed, he was a silent sleeper.

She could make out the shape of his slumbering face with the light that peeked through the slats of her blinds in the front window. Clean lines of fluorescent white came across his forehead at his thick eyebrows, the bridge of his sloping nose, and framed his mouth. His upper lip always had a distinctive shape to it like the starting of a cupid's bow, ending in a gentle curve to each side, and at this time the cusp of his mouth was parted with the emission of quiet noises in his slumber. His head lolled to one side where he was now facing her and the channel of light that was across his nose was now slanted sideways over his closed eyes; the Tunnel Snake was too deep in sleep to be roused by the disturbance and she continued to study him without restraint, without alarm.

A jet black curl of his hair fell loosely into his face, looking shiny and damp and without it's usual holding pomade, so he must have showered shortly after she retired to bed. Her eyes followed the angle of his strong jaw—it was a man's jaw, and she cracked only to herself that he made it that way with how often he liked hearing himself talk—to where it sloped down his neck, the hilt of his collarbones, and down to his chest, which was free of his jumpsuit or even a vault issued undershirt. The latter was discarded on the floor, seeming sweat stained from the heat of her apartment, besides his haphazardly kicked off boots and the draping arm of his leather jacket, which was laid over an end table at the head of the couch arm. His jumpsuit was reclined down to his broad hips along with the zipper and the arms tangled around his torso or legs as they saw fit. A toned arm was tucked under his head while the other draped lazily over his bare stomach, interrupting a trail of sparse chest hair down his stomach where it continued on somewhere unforeseen.

If there was anything she could say about Butch DeLoria, and most likely only in her most private of thoughts, it was that he was an undeniably _handsome_ creature. She recognized a while ago that he was so easy on the eyes sometimes you couldn't help but just stare at him—there was something clean cut yet also ruggish about his features, and she appreciated how he took pride in his appearance and grooming. She found it to be enticing, and more than once when she was close enough to him where she could smell that pomade, or his aftershave, or his cologne, which was almost woodsy smelling and combined with the lasting scent of his leather jacket, did she find herself trapped in thoughts she shouldn't have been having about him.

Like being on her hands and knees under him with her head coaxed back by his fist balled in her hair. His cupid bow mouth and sharp teeth clamping onto the junction of where her shoulder met with her neck; and she'd eagerly drown herself in the intoxicating, masculine smells of those earthy tones and genuine leather coming off his tousled hair, and the beading sweet off his skin, his taut body against her back as his hips drove into her—

Winona shivered in the doorway of her bedroom, her hand clutching the jamb as she leaned against it for support and continued observing him while he was blissfully unaware. Her face was suddenly hot, feeling like it was beginning to heat her in the apex of her thighs and she shut them tightly—as if it'd will the potent sensation away.

It had been a long time since Winona Parker found herself physically attracted to anyone; and the shame that came with these desires being caused by _him_ left an unforgiving welt inside her that she didn't know she craved—the desire of something that was taboo, that she would've been ridiculed for, even from her closest of loved ones. She missed feeling such a visceral physical attraction for someone—and it reached a height she hadn't even felt for the lean bodied Freddie, whom she, initially, thought had physically been more her type.

Tastes could change and as she took notice of weeks ago, Butch's strong and switchblade trick-calloused hands were much more suited for spanking than Freddie's had been. His toned physique was also much more to the liking of her wandering hands—which wouldn't have been able to keep themselves to one place if they had the chance to press against him.

It was like a dirty secret she would never share with anyone, and she'd _never_ share it with anyone _happily_.

In the confines of her room, where she was alone with only her hands and the thoughts she had of Butch DeLoria in the night, Winona knew that allowing her imagination full creative control was dangerous; she knew that the moment her mind would conjure Butch's face into her fantasies, she'd be fucked... though that was probably the goal, in all honesty.

The inventor quickly retired back to her room. She placated herself for far too long by raking over every detail of Butch's partially naked body, leaving nearly very little to her aforementioned vivid imagination. She spent the remainder of the night trying to force herself into sleep and her hand from straying into the waistband of her pajama shorts.

However, that was a battle she almost gladly let herself lose more than once.

* * *

 **Day One – _Afternoon_**

Butch thanked God that Winona wasn't a morning person, because _damn_ neither was he—and any man who said they were wasn't a man to be trusted.

He sloughed himself to breakfast (lunch, actually) at around 12, grabbed some packaged crap at the cafeteria, and on his way out noticed Susie Mack with her cousin, Christine Kendall, in tow at the bar counter. As he dropped some credits at the register for his sugar-packed lunch, on the brink of his hearing, he heard the two quietly whispering Winona's name and pointing at him in a way that they probably thought was discreet before giggling to themselves. He regarded them with a sneer and waited for the perfect moment where Susie looked back at him—obviously assuming that he hadn't noticed them—and gave his most wrathful sneer. The typically bullheaded Susie buckled in surprise under the glare with a white face and immediately drew silent. Her eyes snapped back to her cousin to try and pretend she hadn't noticed it.

A momentary look of concern passed over her face just as her eyes ducked from his—like she was _certain_ he knew about what happened between her and Freddie just from looking at her.

Butch fully expected her to call him out on his sneer because _damn_ did he want to pick a fight with her. _Cheating slut,_ he thought heatedly, as he snatched his packaged food off the counter and stalked to the door—having to go past the two girls on his way out.

They were eerily quiet all the way until he stepped foot out the cafeteria and the door rolled shut behind him.

He knew Winona didn't care about the cheating, and furthermore hadn't been wounded by it at all, but the gang leader was pissed off enough for the both of them so it probably balanced it out.

The walk back to her apartment was a quiet one and he was happy that he didn't encounter any other residents now that he was in a shitty mood. He couldn't tell why it _bothered_ him so much that she wasn't upset by how Freddie went under Susie. If Butch ever saw the Candypants, he'd give the bastard the beating of his life that'd make _Allen Mack_ look like a playful kitten with his wife in comparison. If he and Winona weren't friends, he might've been impressed that Freddie got two chicks and was sneaky enough to get away with it... but the fact of the matter was that he _was_ friends with Winona— _great friends, even_ —and he couldn't understand how Freddie cheated on someone as kickass as she was.

If Butch had a girl like Winona on his arm, he'd makesure that everyone knew how fucking awesome she was. He'd make sure the _whole_ damn vault knew that she was his girl and anyone who thought about looking at her would eat his fist. She could share his liquor, touch his hair, and wear his Tunnel Snakes jacket whenever she wanted, which was a big deal for him because even Dolly—his on-and-off girlfriend of so many years— _ **never**_ got to wear his jacket, and she'd constantly ask for him to drape it around her shoulders.

 _...The fuck am I even **thinkin',** about Parker?_ An estranged voice questioned in his head upon realizing that he was thinking about her tousling his hair with gently stroking fingers; snatching his beer from him with a wicked grin and a curled finger challenging him to come and get it back; curling herself under his arm with his jacket on, looking like she was _born_ to wear it for him. He thought about her sometimes, sure, but _not_ like this—not in some serious, intimate manner since he had a crush on her when they were teenagers. Something about the tangle of discombobulated emotions was so stifling, like it was wringing his lungs and turning his stomach inside out, with flutterings he wanted to crush under pounding fists because he knew it'd be too much trouble to keep them.

Coupled with his still pissy mood with Susie, he was already having a shitty enough morning.

He was finally at Winona's door, however, and allowed himself inside. She gave him clearance the day before their wedding so he had freedom to go in and out with her permission. The thought of yesterday's ceremony drew his eyes down to his ring finger on his left hand, which was free of a silver wedding band. Straight after the ceremony they both took the rings off and he left his to be forgotten in his sock drawer when he packed an overnight bag for their Honeymoon Week.

" _That you, Snake King?_ " Winona called from the bedroom just as he dropped 'breakfast' on the dining table.

" _No,_ it's the _Overseer._ " He quipped sarcastically.

" _Oh, good! For a second I was worried you were Butch DeLoria!_ "

Butch snorted loudly in an under breath laugh as he stalked toward her room to linger in her doorway. Winona sat at her workbench just across from him, hunched over a snarl of wiring coiling all across the table to different pieces of a partially constructed invention—wielding a soldering iron in steady hands as she meticulously worked. Her long, fraying braid trailed freely down the middle of her exposed back from under an emerald green bandana, printed with gold and white designs. Butch had little time to admire the view (especially since she was still in the same halter last night, and the bottom half of a jumpsuit that hugged her hips as if devoted to her shape) when she looked up from her task to regard him with a small but kind smile that accentuated only her right dimple, as it was uneven and favored that side.

It immediately melted the burning ire he had for Susie Mack to a simmering pile of ashes right then and there... and Butch's earlier vision of the inventor, looking downright cocky in his leather jacket, became so much easier to visualize. Winona smiled at him before, but it wasn't a smile like told him she was _genuinely_ happy to see him.

He knew he was screwed right then and there.

"You sleep okay?"

" _Your apartment's fuckin' hot,_ " He grumbled indignantly.

" _Poor baby_. Want me to follow you around with a hand fan?"

"Don't offer if 'ya won't deliver," The smile on her face deepened despite the little roll of her eyes. "I know when you're talkin' crap 'bout me in your head, girlie."

"You act like I was trying to hide it." Winona replied back with false innocence as he waltzed over and stood just beside her to gaze over—... whatever it was that she was working on.

"The hell's this?"

"Something that needs a bit of tweaking but it's not _cooperating,_ " She sighed as she set the soldering iron in a stand up holder so it wouldn't be left unsupervised on her workbench. "It's a device meant to stun radroaches."

"...That's cool," The fear he had of radroaches sent a sliver of anxiety right through his heart. "How's it do that?"

"Through a frequency roaches can hear that remains undetected and unnoticed by us... renders them unable to move, which's all well and good but not the desired effect. I'm trynna fix it so it'll _kill_ them instead—"

As she began to explain her invention, Butch came around behind her hunched posture to lean over her. His hands snaked around each of her sides to brace his weight with the heels of his palms on the workbench table edge—and her commentary immediately halted as she took notice of their suddenly extremely close proximity to each other. She could feel his front grazing her back and the white-haired girl turned her chin up to look to him at her shoulder.

"Pretend like I ain't here," He smirked in that charmingly cheeky way of his and she couldn't break herself away even if she wanted to. It was in the way that he smiled that grated her with his arrogance, while also simultaneously stoking at a lewd appetite she wanted to placate. His stare was heavy lidded with a satisfied glint as if he had her _right_ where he wanted her to be... but that only drove a challenging fire in her to keep him from winning.

Good thing that was a talent of hers.

"You make that hard to do," Winona responded before adding _cheeky bastard_ in a weak mental voice, only to herself.

" _So you **want** me around, Parker?_" Butch hummed with that damn smirking mouth of his poised strategically close to her ear. When she shivered in response, _he noticed,_ and went on with a low rumble to his voice, as if that was all he needed to push her over the edge. " _All you gotta do is say the word._ "

"That right?" She responded quietly, thinking. Butch didn't like when she used that tone of voice because it implied she had a trick, or invention, or _something else_ that she was patiently waiting to utilize that would keep the cards from cashing out in his favor.

A sharp peak of thrill ran coarse ringlets down his spine, and now Winona knew _she_ had _him_ right where she wanted him.

"That's right, girl." His reply was tentative and just the right crack she needed to sneak herself through.

"That's _not_ how this would work... _not at all_." Winona clucked her tongue as if she were scolding him and placed a hand against his chest to ease him off while rising from her stool.

Soon, Butch was the one sitting down and he didn't know how the shift had suddenly taken place—mentally kicking himself for not seeing how she managed to wrangle the exchange in her favor, and Winona was just surprised at the surge of confidence she held herself with. It was more than she thought she'd ever have when a time like this came, as if it were one of those unrealistic scenarios playing through her head come to life. Her hands were on his shoulders now, slowly smoothing down his biceps over the leather of his jacket arms and she tried not to shake; from nerves, from excitement, from the rapidly growing want.

"If _you_ want it, _you_ say the word—I think it'll _beee... **mercy.**_ " The last word was accentuated by a dusky murmur and though Butch tried to keep the arrogant smirk on his face, they both knew that he was crumbling apart right under her provocative touch.

A short, startled inhale of a gasp escaped her when his hands latched onto her hips, pulling her in against him in a jarring and sudden motion with the intention of catching her off guard, and she had no choice but to hold steady on his shoulders so she wouldn't lose her footing. With her body weight leaning into him, leaving neither of them without full contact with the other person's body, Butch's arms encircled her small waist with one pressing along up, up, _up,_ her spine. Winona stood between his thighs, where his booted feet were tucked onto a foot rung around the base of her stool, her chest crushed against his, and she allowed him to hold her as he was—as if she _belonged_ to him.

Butch had that fucking arrogant smirk on his face again.

She'd fix him in due time.

He'd invite her to if she dared.

"If 'ya think I'll come crawlin' on my damn hands and knees—" He began in a stubborn voice but she swiftly cut him off with her trademark sarcasm.

"You can slither if you want," She nearly jumped when his hand on the curve of her back dipped and shamelessly grabbed a handful of her rear in a tight grip. Her knees nearly buckled out from under her, betraying her to her desires that left her wanting to be mindless—to let go and let whatever _could_ happen between them just _happen._ It'd been so long since someone last touched her that she felt intimately bankrupt and that one grope alone almost sent her careening into a tailspin with her eyes set on the teasing curl of his mouth, wanting to steal a kiss from it.

"Butch DeLoria doesn't _beg._ "

"When I _tell_ him to, he does."

"Don't give up easy, do 'ya, Parker?" Butch was grinning from ear to ear, allowing more latitude for the flushing red that was tinging his cheeks from the heat between them. She was feeling it too, feeling the warmth in her face, as it bypassed the rest of her body straight down to her core. She shifted her body against his wantonly at the feeling of his chest under her splayed hands.

"Thinking I'm easy is an insult you'll regret implying." Winona's head dropped to allow her lips a moment to linger near his as if inviting him to close the distance, just as he was lifting his chin to meet her, and feeling his nose brush hers, she grinned tormentingly and withdrew from his arms—escaping the trap that kept her between his knees. "You let me know when you want mercy."

"If you don't cry mercy _first,_ Snowflake." The Tunnel Snake challenged as he pulled her back in before she could manage even a single step away, his hands laying greedy claim to her hips again.

"You think I would?" She laughed, dubious in the conviction behind his accusation.

"I _bet_ you would."

The obvious truth of the matter was Butch _hated_ crying Uncle and _**hated**_ being told what to do even more; and Winona was patient and disciplined enough to ensure that she wouldn't be the one to crack first, as long as he didn't use any dirty tricks. The only advantage the gang leader had over her that he could lay claim to was his past experience; even though it only extended to Dolly, it was still a _hell_ of a lot more impressive than her record with two years of 'no sex' torture that she endured with Freddie... and yet his confidence in such experience was now a little shaken as the course of their conversation took place. She may not have had physical experience, but she had an _idea_ as to what'd get him purring, and she had a damn near _**dangerous**_ imagination that could make up for it if she had the fearlessness to act on them.

And fearless, Winona Parker was.

Winona stood in front of him with a contemplative look in her eyes, and in her thoughts she was weighing the circumstances that they were under. She couldn't forget the _**civic duty**_ that loomed over them and what this week represented—the expectation of bonding, fucking like rabbits, and then getting interrogated about whether or not they procreated at the end of the week—but she couldn't help having an ulterior motive, and she honestly _liked_ Butch. There was an easy comfort that came from being around him, and the fact that their companionship was always meant to remain a secret carried a questionable thrill for her. She couldn't ignore how starved she was for the carnage of sex and if he was willing to be her supplier, than the Overseer didn't have to know, and they didn't have to treat it as anything other than using each other as more than just friends.

After all, they decided that the marriage wasn't going to change anything for them at all—there was only so much the Overseer and the F.A.M.I.L.Y. Initiative could make them do—if she was going to have sex with him it was because _she_ wanted to and because it was _her_ 100% choice.

Through just a connection of their eyes, it was as if a whole conversation had been relayed, but Winona was the first one to verbally speak up.

" _You're **so** on, Snake King._"

"You can call me _Butch-man_ , baby." He remarked proudly. Calling her _baby_ sent a white-hot coil through her and the hissing thought of _fuck me, I'm a goner._ "You wanna kiss on it t'seal the deal?"

" _Nice try_ but you're gunna have to earn it!" Winona laughed in response as she pulled on his jacket lapel in a gesture for him to get off her stool. He did so without complaint. "Now get outta here, I have work to do!"

"Well don't miss my handsome mug _too much_ while I'm gone—gonna go see if Paul's around. Leave you t'your _nerdy_ _little toys_ , twerp."

"...Call me twerp _one_ more time, _I **dare** you._" She warned and it definitely sounded more threatening than playful.

" _Twerp_." He spat without any hesitance.

Winona responded in kind by immediately chasing him out of her apartment with a wrench, also without hesitance.

* * *

 **A/N** **: Heeey readers. So this fic is going to be changed up a bit... because I'm a sucker for punishment, apparently, and because I never wrote nor planned this ahead of time with an end goal in mind-just something fun for Valentine's Day that I had floating around my head-the more I wrote for this AU the more I wanted to explore it.**

 **So for the time being, since I'm basically going to utilize Lovers Lament as smut practice (hehe) I decided that it's an open ended fic. It'll _always_ be considered completed, _always_ open ended with no 'final chapter' in mind since it's not really a plot driven story, and I'll add to it when I feel like it or leave it alone when I don't. There won't be a set schedule for chapters like there is for Inventor's Absolution so it'll be a really lax side project.**

 **Hope y'all enjoy the ride regardless! The last thing I'll mention is that there _is_ a timer shown in the chapters (like with the Day One - _Afternoon_ ) just to keep the story on a timeline so it never seems like an endless 'Honeymoon'.**

 **Happy reading, happy writing!  
**

 **~Konfessionist signing out**


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Two – _Morning_**

It was a quiet time of morning in Vault 101; a time of a late twilight when half of the working residents were getting up to start their day while the other half were retiring from their graveyard shifts to return home. Winona sat in a diner booth furthest back in the cafeteria from the door, watching the very few night job residents that occupied the diner for their breakfast before going to bed, and was uncomfortable by the few who chewed on their hot cakes and occasionally glanced in her direction—they had looks in their eyes like they wanted to sit with her and either probe her with questions about her marriage to Butch DeLoria, or to offer their condolences as if it were a funeral and not a wedding ceremony that had taken place only two days ago.

She pretended not to notice the nature of these stares, preferring to think that they were looking at her for the usual reasons (loud noises in the night of her inventions going haywire, wondering what she was doing on the main floor instead of down in the tombs of maintenance 'where she belonged', why she was sitting in a back diner booth all suspicious-like and doing nothing). A half drunk bottle of Nuka-Cola rotated between her palms, sliding across the table from one end to the other as she stared straight ahead at the empty cafeteria bar and looked back at no one.

The closest residents to her, Emile from the incinerator parlor and Antonio who worked funeral ceremonies, were whispering to each other and wondering if Butch was coming to meet her for breakfast... or if she, perhaps, was stood up by her new 'husband'.

 _Husband._

It was still such a weird thought to wrap her mind around as she looked down to the gold band on the ring finger of her left hand. The two agreed that in public they would have to wear the rings, even if they weren't seen together, in case the Overseer was watching... and he undoubtedly was. Perhaps watching them more than he was the other 'couples'. Winona constantly wondered if the Overseer matched them together just to spite them for all the trouble they caused, individually and together, over the years, thinking that they would probably torture each other enough that they wouldn't have time for much trouble making elsewhere. However, while the Overseer was a petty and controlling man that she despised, she had to admit that he wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't want to agree on a match that wouldn't have the potential of birthing the next generation, as it would be a waste and Alphonse Almodovar wasn't wasteful.

Perhaps he thought Winona was dutiful enough to whip Butch into shape if only to appease the vault, to be praised for trying to contribute to the normalcy of their society, so she (and maybe even he) could finally be accepted by the masses? Or maybe with their unusually high score, he wanted to see how things would play out?

 _Or he doesn't see any harm in letting the computer throw us together because he doesn't see the truth,_ she pondered while taking another sip of her now flat soda. _That Butch and I can be more dangerous together. We were 91-percent compatible... wonder how all the other couples scored. Why didn't that raise a red flag for him, given the history between Butch and I? Butch was right, our metaphorical kids would be evil geniuses and I can't imagine the Overseer wanting that. We're both too smart for our own goods._

Here she was thinking of chess pieces in a game that probably wasn't even in play. She waved the unfounded worries away and looked up to the pinned breakfast menu because she surely had to eat _something_ today, and if Amata saw that her best friend's breakfast was nothing but a soda she'd flip her lid.

Winona looked to the time on her Pip-Boy. Amata would be there any moment now, to meet up before going to work in the supervisory wing, and Winona knew _exactly_ how the hang out would take place; she'd be drilled with questions about the marriage ceremony, about Butch staying in her apartment for the next week, if he was _behaving_ himself, if she was _sure_ she couldn't get some kind of divorce or annulment; anything at all having to do with the Tunnel Snake and the current union and how to break it like a toothpick, really.

She wanted nothing more than to go home and lock the door than face Amata and her questions. It was a weird fear for her to have—feeling like she couldn't talk to her best friend about this—but if Winona ran away then Amata would _surely_ know something was wrong and would come looking for her.

Taking the last sip of her soda, she sat with the empty bottle in her possession and decided that she feared this conversation, mainly, because of what had transpired between her and Butch just the afternoon before. A truth was coming to fruition that she couldn't ignore.

" _You can call me_ _ **Butch-man,**_ _baby._ "

Or maybe she didn't _want_ to ignore it.

She thought about it all day after he left her apartment to go hang out with Paul. She thought about it even after he returned (with dinner, no less, which she found to be uncharacteristically thoughtful of him even if he didn't think anything of bringing her food), she thought about it in bed until she finally fell asleep and thought about it even _more_ as she got ready for breakfast with Amata. Winona stopped beside the couch where Butch lay sleeping—unsure if she was only watching him or trying to decide upon his sleeping face whether or not to tell Amata the truth of their relationship—and then went on her way to the cafeteria. All that kept running through her head, chased by the howling triad of wolves that were her worries, her anxiety, and her fear, were the memories of that moment with Butch; trapped between his knees as he pulled her in close enough to smell his cologne, her lips phantoming over his with a teasing smile before withdrawing with the hope that he'd pull her into the kiss she playfully denied him, his hands on the curves of her body with the possessive caressing of a lover while calling her _baby._

 _What the fuck am I doing?_ She asked herself heatedly with fingers pressed into her tired eyes.

"Winona!"

The inventor jumped at the sudden call of her name, snapped her head up, and was shocked to find _Freddie Gomez_ advancing her table, not Amata, from the front cafeteria door. Emile and Antonio watched with wide eyes and continued to quietly spoon their oatmeal, watching with anticipation of what was to happen next like it was a televised soap opera for their morning enjoyment.

But Winona was too busy to notice their amusement, as she slid out of her booth as quickly as Freddie could cross the diner to her. She wasn't going to be cornered by him and forced to listen to another slew of his apologies, and she had even _less_ patience for it now with everything else going on in her life.

This was something that she couldn't make any clearer to him—not wanting to get back together, no longer loving him, for him to stay _away_ from her—and yet he kept crawling back and trying to corner her at work, her apartment, _anywhere_ he could get her alone.

The only thing she hadn't tried yet was being outright callous but she was slowly wanting to change that.

" _Leave me **alone,**_ " She warned when he was close enough. "Freddie, _please,_ I am _begging you,_ I don't want to have this conversation today."

"You won't want to have it ever!" He exclaimed with frustration. "Winnie, _c'mon,_ just hear me out—I mean _really_ hear me out—"

"There's nothing you can tell me that I haven't heard before."

"I told you it was an accident! What happened between Susie and I was an accident, I didn't mean for it to happen!"

"Oh, _yeah,_ I'm _sure_ it was an accident alright. Tripped into her when you both had your pants around your ankles, did you? And _right_ when I was starting to think it was a general zipper problem for you. But I guess that was only around me."

Freddie didn't look like he could get any paler, or blush any redder, in that moment. Emile at the table behind him hacked as he swallowed a bite of his breakfast wrong upon Winona's dryly acidic insult.

" _Geeze,_ Winnie..." He muttered, absolutely shocked and absolutely hurt.

"Don't look at me like that, Freddie Gomez, like you're a puppy I kicked. _God,_ this is so damn unfair!" She started getting angry, which was something that was increasingly easy to do around him now, and she hated it. She hated that she didn't care about him anymore but he still somehow got under her skin. "You cornering me in public because you think I won't make a scene, or that I'll be _nicer_ because there's people watching! I don't have to be nice to you. Not after what you did. I don't owe you a _damn_ thing!"

"I just want to talk!" Freddie cried, advancing on her to grab her hands in each of his desperately and he immediately calmed down. "I just want to _talk._ Winnie I messed up bad, I messed up _real_ bad, and all I want—all I've thought about since that day was trying to get you to forgive me. All I want is for us to be something _good_ again. I didn't appreciate you while we were together, and _God,_ I am _so_ sorry for it, you deserve better."

Winona pulled her hands away and put them into her jumpsuit pockets so he wouldn't grab them again. "Would you _stop_ already?"

"Why do you always make everything so complicated!" He cried. "Why can't you even bother to _humor_ me and hear what I have to say?"

"Freddie why are you even bothering? Seriously, _why?_ I told you I don't love you anymore." Winona asked in a defeated voice and her eyes finally met his for the first time since he entered the cafeteria. "What are you hoping to come from this? We obviously weren't happy together. You're free to be with Susie now—hell—you could be _anyone_ you want for all I damn well care—because you can't have _me_ anymore and _I'm **married.**_ You _know_ I'm married, _everyone_ knows, that Butch and I are together on the Initiative."

"It's not like you two are actually together, and even if you _were, t_ hat creep wouldn't deserve someone as great as you." Freddie replied with a decent amount of ferocity that made her balk in shock.

Freddie was always gentle, taciturn, and civil; he kept his bad feelings to the privacy of his bedroom where even Winona could barely look in, where he hoped to sleep his problems away, or would pick fights with her to vent the anger he didn't know how to positively cope with. He'd steer clear of Butch DeLoria in the halls and would even speak of him with a hushed voice and frightened eyes, as if the mentioned Tunnel Snake could be conjured to them just by the mention of his name. Freddie was never this brazen or outwardly emotional.

 _...He's **jealous,** _she realized, stunned. _He wasn't ever the jealous one, that was always **me.**_

"In the end I wasn't the most swell guy around, but I always treated you good, didn't I? Didn't I? Could DeLoria say the same? He's a—he's a bully, and gets a good chuckle out of hurting people. He's not a good person!"

"Butch isn't like that," Winona frowned as her mouth moved and her tongue spoke against her better judgment. "I mean—he _did_ do those things—he's made a lotta bad choices, sure, but he's not—... he's not actually a _bad_ guy—"

"How can you _say_ that? After how he treated you? Treated Amata? _Treated **me?**_ " Freddie accused angrily.

"You're not exactly an angel yourself! At least I _knew_ he was a jerk, at least he didn't try hiding it, at least he was _honest_ about the crappy things he did!" She spat. " _I trusted **you** for what I **thought** you were and **look at what happened.**_ "

" _I said I was sorry!_ I'm so God damned _sorry,_ I can't think straight when I'm not with you! It's like my thoughts are all jumbled up, I—I can't think real good—all I know is that I want you to marry me, Winona Parker. I want you to leave him and take me back.I promise, _really_ promise, that I'd treat you better this time around—treat you the way you deserve to be treated—I'm more than willing to make the commitment and spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you—I'd treat you better than _he_ could." Freddie frankly asked her and the inventor could only go rigid on the spot, unsure of how else to react. Her thoughts were lost on everything he said after ' _marry me'._

Sorting through her emotions in that moment was a torture she couldn't fully dedicate herself to; there was so much rage, and hurt, and shock, and worry, and _frustration_ , and the desire of just wanting to _smack_ those thoughts right out of him (because _hell_ nothing else seemed to be getting through to him)... but something was wrong with Freddie. He wasn't himself, in the way he talked and the things he said, it was almost like he was destabilizing.

 _Destabilizing. He's destabilizing._

"Are you—... _Are you off your meds?_ " Winona questioned without the tact she should've utilized and his eyes immediately grew frighteningly dark and his mouth became a pursed line. To respond to his vulnerable speech with something so insensitive about his condition was an awful thing to do, but she wasn't thinking.

"Freddie what are you _doing_ here?" Amata demanded to know as she came speed walking into the diner, pushing the mentioned boy out of her way to come to Winona's side with a condemning glare. "I'm sure Winona's already told you to take a flying leap in the atrium—"

"She did. More or less." He responded with an emotionless kind of broken tone with his stare still on Winona's face. "...I'm gonna go. I'll see you around, Winnie. Think about it. I can't—... I can't bare to hear _'no'_ this time."

As he turned and walked away, Emile and Antonio watching with disbelieving expressions, jaws dropped into their bowls of oatmeal and eyebrows to their hairline, Winona finally released a breath she'd been holding in until it almost hurt. Her hands were clammy and shaking in her pockets and she couldn't get them to stop, as she wiped them on the outer thighs of her jumpsuit to dry them.

Why was she suddenly so—... _scared?_

"Winnie, are you okay?" Amata asked her worriedly as she rubbed Winona's back, her dark brows crinkled in concern. "You look awful. What'd he say to you? How long was he here for?"

"... _I don't wanna talk about this._ " Winona replied woodenly with a spooked quietness in her voice.

" _Winona,_ what did he say? You're scaring me, he didn't—did he _threaten_ you?"

"I'm going home," She was already stumbling towards the door, feeling sick to her stomach, desperately wanting to find some larger room where she didn't feel so confined, where she felt like she could _breathe._

"Winona, wait!" Her best friend grabbed her by her arm before she could get too far. "Let's all just _calm_ down, take a deep breath, and sit for a bit, okay?"

"I know what you wanna talk about and I _can't_ anymore, Amata." Winona replied brashly and gently pulled her arm away. "I wish I could tell you all about it and not have to admit that I'm tired and want to be left alone. I'm tired of being judged, and poked at, and stared at, and being told of what to do, and being told about how I still have time to fix this—of people only asking me if I'm okay just so they can ask questions about what I'm going through to satisfy their own curiosity—I don't feel like talking about _anything_ anymore. I don't have anything left to say other then the fact that I'm staying with Butch. I've got nothing else, Amata... and it's not you. I'm not mad at you, I promise... it's just me..."

Amata regarded her with a forlorn look about her eyes. "...Okay. _Okay._ I get it, I'm not upset. We'll do this when you're ready... or—... or not at all, that's totally up to you." She shook her head and gestured back to the table. "If you're up for it, we can still sit and talk about other stuff—? We don't have to talk about _that._ "

"...I just wanna go home." Winona responded in a weak mutter, her eyes unable to meet that of Amata's. She knew Amata would never judge her—at least consciously, she wouldn't—but even Winona as her _best friend_ didn't know how she'd react to the inventor seriously considering having some kind of intimate relationship with the guy that bullied them both for years.

Amata had taken the childhood more to heart than Winona did, especially because of the things Wally said or did after prom. Winona forgave it and let go despite the tumultuous history between her and Butch, she made amends with Paul even before that, and knew Wally was a lost cause... but Amata still thought the whole of the Tunnel Snakes were nothing but venomous, lying, dumb-as-a-hammer freeloaders and bullies.

At one time, that was true. About all of them. Now—... she knew that Butch and Paul, at least, were so much more than those things, to the point that she wouldn't have called them any of those things. Winona still couldn't blame her, though, which is what made her feel all the more guilty as Amata nodded in complete understanding of her wanting to go home.

"Okay. If you ever need me, I'm only one message away." She closed the distance between them to give Winona a meager hug. It was gentle, as if even a little pressure would crush her to pieces. "Feel better, Winnie."

"Thanks." She responded solemnly before detaching and continuing onward back to her apartment.

Winona started to cry the moment the cafeteria door shut behind her.

* * *

Butch was sat up on the couch, groggily pulling on his boots with a string of grumbling musings under his breath. It was still too damn early for him to be awake at 8 AM, and he cursed whoever the head architect was that built the vault, because it was fucking _stupid_ to have communal bathrooms that they would have to go to whenever the need arose, instead of just putting individual bathrooms in the apartments for fucking convenience and basic privacy.

You ever step out of the shower to see Old Officer Taylor down in nothing but his socks because he thought he was the only one in the locker room?

 _You don't **want** to._

But still, Butch had to take a leak, and had damn good plans to flop back onto the couch and pass right out again when he returned. He wasn't hungry enough to bother with a food run, yet, and hoped that maybe Winona would bring him back something when she got back from—... wherever it was she ran off to. He was still half asleep, wavering between full unconsciousness and some vaguely aware and awake state, when she got ready and left. He didn't know how long she was gone for because he fell back asleep right after, and it felt like all of 20 minutes but in actuality it could've been two hours. He idly wondered where she might have gone, and maybe who with if she was gone for a long time, because she didn't say that she had plans outside of the apartment today.

Not that it was any of _his_ business, though.

He thought back to a hazy moment where he briefly came out of sleep—he wasn't awake enough to be fully coherent but not exhausted enough to immediately plunge back into sleep—and he had the vague memory of Winona sitting at the dining table, zipping up her own boots to go out, and watching him sleep. Butch couldn't tell from his haziest of thoughts if it was a memory or a half-awake dream... and ignoring it wasn't doing any favors. The lazy fog of Winona sitting at the table, her chin in her upturned palm, watching him with a somber gaze as if she were thinking on something hard, concerned him.

There were so many sides of Winona Parker; the purely fire side that attracted the condemning wrath within him, the strictly logical side that impressed him, the sarcastic and raunchy side that had him laughing till his face hurt, the commanding and fully in control side that made him want to bury her in the pillows, the coolly contemplative side that had a penchant for causing him to self-reflect...

He disliked that last side the most out of the many that the white-haired inventor had. It usually meant that she was losing control and she didn't know how to proceed without stepping on a devastating landmine.

Sometimes it scared him, seeing her like that, because he knew she was just as scared as he was and he had to take the lead.

 _Dammit, she ain't even 'round and she's grindin' me under her boot like a roach,_ he grumbled tiredly to himself as he finally laced up his other boot and got to his feet with a tall stretch that cracked all his joints. As he pulled on his under shirt and began to tug the upper half of his jumpsuit on, the front door opened and he looked up to see Winona stride into the room. When they made immediate eye contact, she froze in the door and her face went still, as if it would will the tears away from her face.

Butch immediately grew angry, a _wrathful_ angry, as his brain began drilling into his scenarios where he'd have to beat the shit out of whoever made her cry like that.

He hoped it was Wally. Or Freddie. Normally he didn't need a reason, since he was prone to doing whatever he damn well pleased, but the Goody-Goody brigade would get on his case if he didn't have one.

" _What the **fuck** happened?_" He spat as he strode toward Winona. "What happened t'ya? _**Who** did this?_ Did Wally—"

She stepped into the apartment and hugged the Tunnel Snake tightly about his waist with her head rammed against his chest—latching herself onto him as if he were the only thing that could keep her head above water—like he was the only buoy within sight on a torrent of dark waves. It felt desperate, clinging, _scared,_ and so unlike anything he was familiar with her being.

This was the side that wasn't _losing_ control, but had already lost it completely. It was like that night in the salon parlor all those years ago all _over_ again... minus him being the one to make her lose her mind and her throwing shit at him.

Butch didn't know how to respond, not even to hug her in return to comfort her. He was too stunned and too busy with thinking of all the ways he'd keep Wally or Freddie or whoever else made her cry on a permanent stay in the infirmary. The broken, scared look in her face as she cried was twisting at his heart as if it were something meant to be forcibly flayed open.

"...Damn, someone messed 'ya up good, girl." He spoke instead and finally awkwardly placed a hand on her upper back and gave an unsure pat. He was _shit_ at comforting people. "Can mess 'em up right back for 'ya, just say the word. Well—probably'd do it anyway, 'less you care t'stop me just to save the poor bastard's soul 'cause you gotta be a good person like that."

Winona continued to silently cry against his chest with a blank face and tears dampening the front of his undershirt. It was unnerving to see her eyes so emotional while her face remained impassive, like she wasn't even _aware_ that she was crying, or was defeated enough to just let it happen.

" _Sorry I ain't better at this_ _ **nicey-nice**_ _thing."_ Butch spoke again, quieter this time as he finally wrapped an arm around her shoulder to keep her pulled in against his side and she made a small, teary noise that gripped his heart harder.

 _Gunna make the son of a bitch swallow his eyeballs so's he can see all the bones I'm gunna break **from the** **inside.**_

"...Uh—...feel better? There, there? You want food or somethin'? I can get'cha food, no problem. Got my card deck 'round here somewhere, too, we can play a couple hands. Or whatever."

"... _Cards?_ " She murmured with a small smile on her face despite the ongoing tears. She pulled back enough to wipe her eyes and looked up at him. "That the best you got, Tunnel Snake?"

"Well, why don'cha gimme a hint and tell me what'll get you to stop cryin'? I ain't good with crying broads! Would rather be trapped in a room with a giant ass roach nest with raw meat strapped to my handsome mug," He spat awkwardly.

She finally laughed at the embarrassed blush in his cheeks while shaking her head at the dark hilarity in it all. Finally detaching from him, she bonelessly deposited herself onto the sofa, where she slumped back into the cushions; her chin was dropped onto her chest and she stared blankly down at her knees, her legs draping across the rug. Butch came and plopped down beside her with his elbows on his knees, back hunched forward, as he looked to the few possessions he brought with him for the week; styling pomade, toothbrush, razor and cream, his Toothpick and the blade sharpener emblazoned on the handle with his moniker _Serpent King._

"Wanna talk about it?" He ventured with his back to her.

"M'tired of talking. Everyone wants to talk about something. You ever just—... You ever just wanna enjoy the silence? The kind of silence where you don't feel like anything has to be said _because_ it's quiet? Like you're trying to needlessly fill some void because you think it'd be more awkward if you didn't?"

"...You brainy types, I'll never get it." Butch snorted humorously with his opposite hand massaging into the apex of where his shoulder met his neck, and looked back at her.

The truth was, he knew what she meant to some degree; growing up, his mom was rowdy, silly, and messy, and the only times he felt like he wouldn't have to worry about her were the times when she'd fall asleep, and then the silence would come. The apartment would grow quiet, he'd make sure she was propped up on her side in case she threw up, and then he'd sit in the next room and _enjoy_ what little peace he could have. As he got older those moments of silence became few and far between because Wally was _always_ talking because he liked the sound of his own voice, or Paul always had a good story or something funny to say, or they were planning, or they were causing trouble, because the Tunnel Snakes were constantly going at an electrified pace of _go, go,_ _ **go!**_

He missed it when he took the time to think about it and make the realization... but the quiet was nice, too, though he never had someone to experience it with like Winona described. It was a pace of _stop and enjoy,_ which he wasn't accustomed to in the slightest (because he was an impatient little bastard), but when Butch looked down into her face he didn't really mind that.

The ease of this silence passed between them effortlessly as they sat in each other's company—saying nothing despite the glances they'd throw at the other when they thought the other person wasn't looking. Winona shifted forward on the couch and slung her arm under his to hook it through her own, her cheek came to rest against his shoulder, and then the weight of her body leaned against his in an easy sort of manner, as if she were comfortable around him. The top of her head brushed his jaw and her hair messily spilled down his arm and her front, and he turned only his eyes to their corners to look at her without giving away that he was staring.

Soon his arm slipped from hers to hook around her shoulders so she fit more snugly against his side. They laid back on the cushions together, her front pressed into his side with her arm draped over her lap before her hand migrated to rest atop his chest, and his head lolled to the side to lay over hers.

They enjoyed the silence.

* * *

 **A/N** **: Send help I'm utter garbage for these two LOL I promise smut is coming! Just scene building and exploring feelsy stuff and some open-ended strings with Freddie... though he isn't the _only_ one who's got a stake on our two lovebirds. Anyone gotta a guess on which person (maybe even people) I'm talking about that could be brought into future chapters? ;)**

 **Happy reading, happy writing!**

 **~Konfessionist signing out**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **Hey y'all! Sorry for the radio silence on this fic, the road to writing it was rife with problems and lack of inspiration, and I was especially determined in not posting this until I was happy with it because we're getting to the long awaited smut! Feel free to leave me a review to let me know if you enjoyed it or to leave constructive criticism if you think I could improve, because I'm always looking to do so (especially where NSFW is concerned).**

 **The main troubles here were 1.) my crap laptop deleting what I wrote not _once_ but _TWICE,_ and then 2.) painting a more loving, realistic portrait of losing one's virginity to someone who's experienced and attentive. It doesn't always hurt, ladies. Of course it's different for all ladies but to say that it's _supposed_ to be painful is a myth.**

 **Anyways, I'll stop babbling now. Enjoy!**

 **Happy reading, happy writing!**

 **~TheKonfessionist, signing out**

* * *

 **Day Two – _Late Night_ /Day Three – _Early Morning_**

With a knee cradled against her chest and the other crossed in front of her for her thigh to prop up her sketchbook, Winona sat on her bed, somber and contemplative, as she sketched her next blueprint, her bedroom light dimmed low. The inventor had tried her hardest to sleep—laid down and rest, shut her eyes, counted sheep launching themselves over a farm fence one by one, but her mind was restless with thoughts of Freddie so she got up to work, but even _that_ wasn't helping to keep her mind occupied.

" _ **I said I was sorry!** I'm so God damned **sorry,** I can't think straight when I'm not with you!"_

Winona still hadn't told Butch about what happened with Freddie, and that wasn't for his lack of trying in getting it out of her; no matter how much he poked and pried and prodded, she'd only brush him off with some sarcastic segue into another topic, joking remark, or a distracting smile. She hoped her constant dodging of the subject was telling enough for the Tunnel Snake that she wanted to handle the issue on her own terms... though she could still tell that he was annoyed by not being able to do anything for her. Eventually he gave up bothering her about it, even stopped trying to get the __name__ of the culprit that upset her so much, but he already seemed convinced that it was either Wally or Freddie that had hurt her.

She had still tried her damnedest not to allude to Freddie's guilt, though. She knew Butch would weed him out and make him eat his knuckles, and after all the things Freddie said—

 _" _I want you to leave him and take me back."__

 _" _All I want is for us to be something__ _ _ **good**__ _ _again."__

 _" _In the end I wasn't the most swell guy around, but I always treated you good, didn't I? Didn't I?"__

 _" _I want you to marry me, Winona Parker."__

 _" _I want you to leave him and take me back."__

 _—_ something was wrong. __Really__ wrong with him, and she knew that she had to tell someone about it. Her father, Jonas, Freddie's parents, __someone__ who had authority over ensuring that he was in right mindset and taking his medication. As angry and overwhelmed and exhausted as she was with him, she'd never forgive herself if he committed self harm because of her... if he did something to himself when she __**knew**__ he wasn't okay.

She dropped her pencil in frustration for it to roll away somewhere unseen as the heels of her palms pressed into her eyes. Printed on the underside of her eyelids was Freddie's face, holding the same tight expression of betrayal he had when she accused him of being off his medication, and it was so _damning,_ she still couldn't believe she had such a thing. Surely she only thought it and hadn't said it out loud—but there was his face, clearly hurt and just as stunned as she was. Her palms collapsed from her eyes in hopes that his face would disappear but it only lingered, accusatory yet ashamed as she ruffled her fingers back through her hair to tousle her curls.

She wanted nothing more than to stop thinking about it, to stop thinking about _him,_ to stop the creeping feeling of guilt that made her feel like his current state was _her_ fault, but sleep evaded her like she was unworthy and she didn't blame it.

" _I can't bare to hear ' **no** ' this time._"

 _...Maybe I deserve this,_ Winona thought dismally as a tired exhale recoiled from her mouth. When Freddie retreated, Amata asked if he had threatened Winona, and _yes, he **did,**_ and it was the most threatening thing anyone had ever said to her. She could never unhear the way his voice sounded, how the desperation clung to his tongue with a genuineness she couldn't overlook, how _serious_ he had been about making amends with her if he was prepared to spend the rest of his life just prove how sorry he was. As far as _she_ was concerned, she only wanted to be left alone to preserve the many good memories that they once shared.

She couldn't deny that she _did_ love him at one time, and was excited to share even the most boring details of her day, when he occupied every vacant crevice of her mind with his face and his tender kisses—... but that was back when she would've given up a lot in order to hold onto him. The inventor had to let go of holding on to someone who was so self-destructive, who took and took from her until she didn't have anything left for herself and yet still demanded for, until she was so drained that even hearing his name in conversation filled her with animosity.

But then he cheated, and she actually felt _relieved_ because it gave her a way out without looking like the bad guy.

Winona still felt awful even admitting that to herself, though.

" _All I know is that I want you to marry me, Winona Parker."_

 _Stop it. Stop it, stop it, **stop it.**_ The inventor scolded herself gravely as she unceremoniously flipped her sketchbook onto the floor to get it off her lap and threw her legs over the side of the bed to stand with frustrated movements. _Stop **thinking** about it! Jesus Christ, I'm gonna drive myself **insane.** I've got to get out of here and do something._

So she got out of bed and changed out of her pajamas and into a clean jumpsuit, zipping it up to her hips to tie the arms in a low knot around her hips, pulled on her boots, and then tied her hair up out of her face in a messy ponytail before opening the door to patter out of the room. It rolled open with a _klang_ and the inventor peeked her head out to ensure that the noise hadn't awaken Butch, who sprawled out on the couch bed. She was finally able to fix the rusted joints so the frame could pull out now, and with all that extra room Butch had, he borrowed a mountain of pillows from her and practically buried himself under them while laying on his stomach with his legs tangled up in the bed sheet, having kicked them mostly off during the night.

He stirred before pushing himself up onto his forearms, breaching his pillow mountain to turn himself over onto his side to face her. Slats of light crossed over his body from the partially opened blinds over the front window, capturing him in a barred cage of fluorescent white as the rays illuminated his bare back and strong legs with the waistband of his boxers hugging under his hipbone.

Winona couldn't help but center the thought that entered her head as she openly stared at his picturesque body, and she nearly laughed out loud at her mind calling him _pretty._ She could already envision saying that to his face just to watch his eyes bulge and his mouth pucker in embarrassment as he angrily insisted that he was a _man,_ not some _**pretty boy.**_

The laugh died in her throat when she realized that Butch's blue eyes were lingering on her in a questioning stare, since all this time she had only stared silently back.

" _If 'ya see somethin' you like, I ain't gonna stop 'ya from **appreciating** it closer, Parker._" He spoke up cockily with a prideful smirk on his face as he turned over onto his back, propped up by his pillow mountain with his arms folded behind his head, as if he were trying to display his body to her; his chest and stomach were toned but not defined or chiseled, which Winona appreciated because her own body was all cut angles and sharp edges, and she liked a softer body on her partner.

She didn't want to accidentally hurt them with a stray elbow or a bony hip.

"Big words for a guy on a fold out couch sitting on a throne of pillows," Winona shot back with even sarcasm, but her gaze betrayed her as her eyes followed his manicured chest hair down its trail to disappear under his boxers.

" _Wanna play **Serpent King and sexy servant?**_ " He teased back, his pride never seeming to falter. "I gotta knob that needs polishing."

"... _Now that I'm done vomiting in my own mouth,_ " She laughed after a beat with a shake of her head, thankful that she could finally pry her eyes away from the rise in the front of his boxers. "Can I ask what dime-show porno you stole that little gem from?"

" _Whaaat,_ not a fan of roleplay? How 'bout we play doctor instead?" Butch tried instead and then held his side with a dramatically fake cough. " _Oooh, doc, I don't feel good!_ You sure you don't have _somethin'_ that'll make me feel better?" He sang.

"That's _Dr. Parker_ to _you,_ " Winona grinned as she leaned a shoulder against the frame of her bedroom door, waiting for the Tunnel Snake leader to register that when someone said ' _Dr. Parker',_ they were usually asking for her father.

" _...Moment ruined._ " He grumbled to himself as he turned back over onto his back with a disappointed look and propped himself up on his pillows again, sitting up now and all she could do was laugh. Butch had a sense of humor, sure, but before this moment she didn't consider him to be _goofy._

"I wanna go out." She supplied with a proud smirk on her own face, having been quite pleased with herself in ' _ruining the moment'_ once her laughter ceased.

"... _Then go out._ What am I, _yer husband?"_ He snorted. "'Ya ain't gotta ask for permission."

"I'm not asking for permission—what I'm _trying_ to ask is if you want to come with me. And do a 'something'. _Together. **Genius.**_ " Winona jested lightheartedly. She actually hadn't thought about bringing Butch with her when she first decided to go out, but since he was awake and she could use the company, especially from someone who was _very_ good at distracting her—...

"You askin' me out?" A, for lack of a better description, shit-eating grin encompassed his mouth, spanning from ear to ear with a flash of his teeth. "I ain't a cheap date, Parker. I expect the __Royal__ treatment."

"I'm not playing __Serpent King and sexy servant__ with you," The inventor remarked in amusement as she crossed the room to pluck up his discarded jumpsuit from the floor and whipped it at him, laughing when he grabbed one of his many pillows to whip back at her in retaliation, trying not to shamelessly stare at him again as she scurried to the door to escape.

...Okay, she snuck a __little__ peek. The boy had gorgeous arms.

"So are you coming or not?" Winona asked with finality.

"Depends on where we're goin' and whose gunna see us," He pointed out with less enthusiasm in his voice.

Winona hadn't even thought about that. If they came across anyone outside of her apartment, they'd have to pretend to be a married couple; they'd have to wear their rings and hold hands at __minimum__ so they wouldn't get written up for not _'_ _ _upholding a happy, productive marriage__ _'_ or whatever if they came across a Security guard. They both knew that the Overseer would nail them for anything he could scrape up that violated the rules outlined in __**The Official Vault-Tec Certified Booklet on How to Retain A Prosperous Union.**__

The book title _alone_ haunted her dreams _._

"Movies?" She suggested to avoid the headache of being out in the open for very long. "No guards there."

"...Movies, huh?" Butch responded thoughtfully.

"Yeah, movies. _You know,_ those moving pictures they put up on a _big_ screen, with a magic camera?" Winona preened jubilantly despite the thick sarcasm that encompassed her words. "I'll even buy you _snaaacks._ "

"If 'ya think for a _damn_ second you can lure me out with popcorn, you're _dead wrong,_ Parker." He grinned in response. "We Tunnel Snakes got _instinct."_

"Then how's your _'_ _ _Serpent Instinct'__ feel about a licorice whip? Or the big box of Mars Men sours? I'll even buy you __Goobers.__ _"_ His eyebrows went to his hairline in disbelief of her meager bribes but he couldn't help but laugh. "That's right, __Goobers,__ I said it. You want to turn __that__ down? C'mon, don't make me beg, Butch-man."

Butch couldn't help but let a partially amused, partially satisfied smirk to come to his face at the mention of his nickname, __definitely__ seeming too proud as a half-naked man surrounded by pillows, but Winona could certainly feel a coil spring free at the spectacular burst of blues in his eyes at the calling of his nickname. It was the first time she had ever said it out loud, and __damn__ if he didn't look like it had been a dream come true for him to hear it.

 _"_ _ _Fine,__ lemme get my damn suit on... __**and**__ _ _I want the licorice whip, too!__ The __red__ one!"

* * *

Well, the movies were a bust, because apparently their _only_ projector was acting up or burnt out or _something_ and the theater set out a sign saying that it wouldn't be fixed until the morning before the 10 AM showing. Instead, the two decided to go find something else to do because they weren't ready to head back home yet, now being wide awake and expecting some fun.

So their next stop was the Game Room. It was once called _Game Room_ _ **1,**_ but given the fact that most of the vault had shut down over the last couple of decades due to population decrease and energy preservation, it was the only Game Room in use, and so, it lost it's numerical value. Butch kept watch for Security with his eyes panning from one end of the hall to the other as Winona overrode the door's lock with her maintenance clearance; her Pip-Boy access plug hooked into the console as she tapped in her code and the door parted open in keen greeting for them. Upon entering the lobby, the door shut swiftly behind them and they went to each window to shut all the open blinds before Winona turned the inside lights on and then locked the door.

" _Damn,_ girlie. Any door 'ya _can't_ get open?" He whistled low with hands that smoothed over the combed back sides of his slicked hair, his boots scuffing squeakily over the green and white tiled floor.

"Security Headquarters, the armory, the Overseer's Office, and resident apartments unless they're on a work ticket... but that's just on _moral principle._ I could still get into them if I wanted to." She responded boldly as she went to the pool table and hopped onto the corner edge to sit with her toes barely brushing the floor.

"Ain't the Goody Two Shoes everyone _thinks_ 'ya are, huh, Parker?" Butch chortled as he walked around the gaming counter, ducking under the bar top to dig through the bins of recreational games. There were various board games, decks of cards, dominoes, darts, bean bags, bingo chips and balls with printed numbers, and other assorted pieces for games. He finally found the bin that held the pool balls and the pool rack and carried it off toward the table, along with a pool cue from the holding rack, also behind the counter.

"You and my dad are _probably_ the only people who're convinced that I'm a ' _Goody Two Shoes',_ DeLoria," Winona replied with candid cheek. "I've got stories you wouldn't even _believe_ if I told."

" _ **Real—**_ _lyyyy?"_ He crooned gleefully as he dumped out the billiards from the bin, settled the rack, and began filling the triangle. "Care t'share with the class?"

" _What,_ breaking into the hairdresser's to steal hair dye doesn't get you all kinds of _hot under the collar?_ " She jested with a small smile as she gathered up all of her hair, twisting it up out of her face to pin under a large hair clip at the back of her head.

"That ain't count 'cause I _caught_ 'ya _,_ girl." Butch pointed out as he pulled the pool triangle, set down the cue ball, and bent low with the pool cue held in his practiced hands to line up a calculated shot for the break. "S'not a good story if you're caught."

He cracked the cue ball into the collection of billiards and straightened up to his full height to watch them scatter. A striped ball was sunk and he grumbled at a second striped ball that dinged off the corner, just missing the pocket there. When he lifted his eyes to Winona and offered her the pool cue in silent question of her playing him, she had a contemplative look on her face that suggested she was trying to decide on what story to tell. Finally seeming to think of one, she shrugged in response to his question, took the cue, and walked about the table to find a good shot to take.

"So stealing from my own dad doesn't count, either?" She replied goodnaturedly. "I never got caught for _that._ "

"Sure, that was ballsy as hell, but that's _old_ news! C'mon, Parker, don't leave me hangin' or else I'll think yer full'a shit." He insisted with crossed arms as she finally found her opening and bent at the table edge, lining up her pool cue. The Tunnel Snake gladly took it as fortunate opportunity to openly stare at the curve of her rear without shame.

"... _Weeeeell,_ " She began reluctantly as if trying to build suspense for her totally awesome story as she briefly adjusted her angle. "My best story's probably the time I broke into Security Headquarters."

" _ **What?**_ " He snapped with rounded eyes just as she took her shot, and his outburst caused her to flinch mid-way and miss the pocket by a noticeable margin. She shot him a dirty look. "You're _totally_ screwin' with me!"

"Hand to Overseer," She replied in sarcastic quip of their 'benevolent leader' with a flat hand over her heart, as if she were taking a solemn oath, and the dirty look faded to a cavalier smile at the fact that she managed to impress him. "I just started my apprenticeship under Stanley when Officer O'Brian caught me working on some blueprints for my inventions and confiscated my sketchbook, saying that they posed a ' _safety risk'_ to the vault. Really, he was just mad at the fact that he couldn't pin me for all the stuff I stole—"

" _The fuck,_ what'd you steal?" Butch balked in genuine shock.

"Before I got sorted into maintenance, I use to—... ' _borrow'_ stuff from the lower levels a lot. Stanley's forgetful so he misplaced things all the time and never noticed, so I'd take what was useful and O'Brian thought it was me but could never prove it." She explained with now rambunctious pride. " _Anyway,_ a couple days after he took my blueprints, he put in a work ticket for Paul to swing by Headquarters and pick it up for the incinerator. I accepted the ticket before it reached him, submitted it as finished, went down to Headquarters after hours with the clearance code I got and took my stuff back. O'Brian never followed up so no one came to check that Paul was the one who collected it."

"You're full'a shit!" Butch replied with a disarmed laugh when his shock faded. "That's some next level fuckery right there."

"Thank you, _thank you_ —please, hold your applause." Winona replied with a dramatic, flourishing bow and a grin that fully exposed her dimples. When she smiled at him like that—all dimples and devilish intent— _fuck,_ it did things to him. _Dangerous_ things.

"Maybe you've got some real Tunnel Snake venom in 'ya after all, girl." Butch mused out loud as he finally reclaimed enough sense to take his next turn. It was executed with startling precision given how quickly he lined up the shot, scattering the billiards again to sink two stripes.

"It took you _this_ long to figure that out? I consider that an _insult_ to my character! I'll be taking my honorary Tunnel Snakes jacket now as compensation for my emotional distress, and I demand you teach me the official secret handshake." She jeered sweetly as she put her weight onto one palm on the edge of the pool table and took a moment to calculate what her next best move would be.

"We ain't gotta handshake." He replied jokingly.

" _ **Lame**_ _-ooooo,_ I'm outta this gang." Winona sang in response as she brandished her pool cue, bent at the table side, cracked the shot, and wrecked it by pocketing the 8-ball.

"Well we didn't need 'ya, anyway! No girls allowed!" He laughed at her wrecked shot with a playful sneer as she dug out all the sunk billiard balls from their pockets. Relishing in his small victory, he went to the Nuka-Cola machine on the far side of the Game Room and dispensed a credit into the vending machine, retrieving his ice cold soda from the bin.

" _Please_ , if I was a Tunnel Snake, Vault 101 wouldn't have a prayer against the two of us." She stated as she racked the balls to set up for the next game, and he watched from the sidelines as he utilized Toothpick to pop open his soda and took a few rough swigs. "We're both too smart for our own goods and like messing with the authority around here. That's a dangerous combo times two."

Once the pool triangle was removed, she declared ' _winner starts'_ and swiftly stole (or ' _borrowed',_ as she called it) his soda bottle from his possession. With a coy smile thrown in his direction at the grumpy expression growing on his face, she took a sip straight from the bottle, uncaring of the fact that his mouth had been on the same lip just a moment beforehand and his brow softened at the memory it registered in his head.

Well, it was actually a dream he had, which he hadn't thought about in _years._ They were just kids then, being 10 years old, and he dreamt that they were sitting in the diner together while she drank a soda he bought her, and then she slid onto his bench on his side of the table and kissed him. It was quick, but a kiss on the mouth had still counted to him all the same because he hadn't kissed anyone before. At least _willingly,_ anyway, since Dolly would try and kiss him all the time back then without his permission.

But now they were at 20—shooting pool, cracking jokes, and drinking Nuka straight from the same bottle.

And here _he_ was, wanting so badly to kiss her.

Normally he would've acted on it already, especially since, _for fuck's sake,_ they flirted all the time and implied having casual sex even though they hadn't even _kissed_ yet, but something was beginning to hold him back. It was a feeling of dread that was telling him to turn back before he hurt himself and he tried to shake it off as he took his first break on the billiards. Unfortunately, he was still too distracted by his anxiety to pay the same attention he had in the earlier game, and his skill was effectively thrown off when he didn't pocket any of the balls. Winona gleefully took her turn without any notice of his preoccupied thoughts, or the almost adoring way he looked at her when she shot him with a lame finger gun, and started the game off with solids. The game went on as pool cues and cold Nuka-Cola exchanged hands between playing and drinking, and at one point Winona even bought a snack cake from the food dispenser for them to share.

Butch couldn't look at her anymore without thinking of all the hell they put each other through while growing up, him being more of an asshole than she ever was, and feeling immense guilt; he called her names, blackmailed her, shit, he even _manipulated_ the vault against her just to name a few unforgivable crimes. He couldn't look at her without suddenly remembering the _anger_ and _jealousy_ he tried to ignore whenever he saw Freddie with her. He couldn't look at her without thinking of all the ways he tried to self-medicate his crush by wreaking havoc throughout Vault 101 with his brothers, partying to the point of black outs, and burying himself inside Dolly every other night.

Butch couldn't look at Winona without wondering why she didn't absolutely hate his guts, because knowing that she did would've made him feel better.

Even with everything he saw when he looked at her, even with all the crimes he committed against her that he was now forced to witness and take responsibility for, the one thing that overwhelmed him when he looked into her face was the fact that— _despite how_ _ **hard**_ _he tried to stop caring—_ his feelings for her had never really gone away. He had only buried it as deep as he could possibly dig down inside himself, and apparently even _that_ hadn't been deep enough.

When Winona leaned over the table and sunk the 8-ball after pocketing all her solids, she shot him with a triumphant grin over her shoulder that showed her dimples once more and he couldn't help but think that, _yeah,_ she was more Tunnel Snake than he realized. She was more than he could've ever hoped for in a woman and at the same time was more than he ever deserved to have, even temporarily. The only thing he could accept about all this was the fact that he never wanted someone as _God damn_ _ **badly**_ as he wanted fucking Winona Parker, and he knew that he was selfish enough to want to keep pulling her close rather than pushing her away out of his guilt.

He could also accept that that made him an unforgivable asshole... but hey, he never claimed he was a stand up guy.

"Ready for another game or should I give you a chance at darts?" Winona ribbed playfully as she began digging the balls out of their pockets to set them back on the pool table, setting up for another round. "If I kick your ass at that too, though, you'll _never_ get me to shut up."

"I don't think _anythin'_ could get 'ya to shut up." Butch replied with a sharp smirk as he shouldered his pool cue across the back of his neck, his wrists hanging off of either side, and galumphed about the table toward her.

"Says the pot calling the kettle black!" She laughed as she shoved a hand against his chest in a playful push away from her.

" _What,_ 'ya think I can't enjoy a little _silence_ now and again?" He inquired goodnaturedly.

" _No,_ what I think is that you like the sound of your own voice more than the Overseer likes _his_ own." Winona responded with an innocuous bat of her white eyelashes.

"... _Oooh,_ " He hissed on an inhale through his teeth. " _That's a_ _ **low blow,**_ _Parker."_

"What're you going to do about it?" She tempted with a jab to her voice and a wide smile. "Talk 'til my ears fall off or I die of _boredom?_ "

"Lookit you, talkin' shit! Bet I could shut 'ya up without saying a _word._ "

"You don't think I could do the same?"

" _Is that right?"_ Butch raised his hands from where his wrists were slung over each end of the pool cue still hooked behind his neck in a ' _come at me'_ gesture, his brows up and his expression dubious. "Hit me with your best _shot._ "

At his invitation, Winona hooked two of her fingers into the neckline of his undershirt, which peeked from between the open zippers of his vault suit and leather jacket, and used the leverage to pull him down to her in one swift yank that caused her mouth to immediately collide with his own. He was too stunned to immediately reciprocate, his arms still awkwardly locked behind the pool cue so it kept his hands from grabbing for her as she heatedly led the kiss, and he felt his stomach grow blissfully heavy with a flood of desire that made his head swim and his heart fight for release. He could feel himself coming undone just at the wanting touch of her lips.

Too soon she pulled away. Vigor filled her hazel eyes when they fluttered open, ringed by a deep olive green and brown that peeped at him brazenly from under colorless lashes, and the apples of her cheeks were rosy with a hot blush. Butch stared back down at her silently, mouth parted and gaze lost in the sanctuary of her eyes that only catapaulted the climbing of his heartbeat, and he found himself unable to form a sentence. Shit, he couldn't get himself to even say a _word,_ or make a sound.

"... _Told you I could make you be quiet._ " She muttered without the sprightly tone she had earlier, seeming deeply thoughtful herself as her eyes flickered back down to his lips, the gesture alone enough to betray her. They lingered there momentarily as he felt her hand detach from his shirt's collar, cupping his jaw in a palm with her thumb sweeping down the point of his chin and her gaze reconnected with his own again.

"... _ **My turn,**_ " Butch mumbled back through his own lust-driven haze and untangled his arms from the pool cue to hook it over her head so it settled against the low curve of her back, using it to pull her in against him.

And he kissed her. _Hard._ Kissed her like he'd never kiss her again, that made her exhale a small breath through her nose like it was a barely contained sigh of relief, and she closed the distance between them with her hands pulling on the lapels of his jacket. He led it with unbridled enthusiasm as his hands tightened on the pool cue before doing away with it completely, tossing it onto the table just to get it out of the way, and then he captured her hips with possessive hands but a gentle squeeze. He felt Winona's mouth press harder against his in appreciation and it effectively snuffed out the last thought that lingered in his head telling him to exercise some self control when her tongue traced his bottom lip and his own darted out from his mouth to make contact with hers. They tangled momentarily in an unpracticed dance before melding together hotly, finding a passionate rhythm that made her deliver a deep throated moan.

The sound alone prompted Butch to free his mouth from the kiss to bury his lips against her throat, wanting to torture her soft spots to pull more out of her. His sharp teeth framed her pulse, his mouth leaving in it's wake unabashedly red marks in hickies and soft bites and her skin felt like fire when his tongue soothed over them. She was crumpling against him, breathing raggedly with an arm hooking behind his shoulders to use him as support, with the only other thing keeping her upright being the pool table behind her as she whimpered, half breathless moans dripping from her parted lips. He didn't care about how her shaking fingers coiled themselves into his hair at the back of his scalp, feeling only the eroticism in how she desperately clung to him and lustfully murmured a spill of words he couldn't decipher, and he helped her up onto the table edge by picking her up by the hips to sit. When she was settled with her arms refusing to unwrap themselves from around him, he made himself at home between her thighs with her knees framing his waist, and he took a moment to get his air back in him and to look down into her glowing face. Her eyes were unfocused but a big grin had placated her dimpled mouth.

" _Take Toothpick outta your pocket, it's poking me."_ She murmured hazily.

"That ain't Toothpick you're feeling, sweetheart." He replied proudly.

"Bullshit—" She laughed under a laborious breath.

" _Language,_ " He teased with lighthearted cadence as if he were shocked by her swearing, and her hiccup of laughter made him want to pepper her mouth with more kisses despite her looking like she needed a breather. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel immense pride in seeing her like this— _making_ her like this—all needy and touchy and losing her thoughts. She was always difficult to shake up, even in times where he thought he was winning.

"Too much for 'ya? You asked for the Butch-man, Parker—" He teased again.

"Call me Winnie." She corrected gently as her eyes lifted to meet his, her demand sounding more like a pressing request.

"... _Winnie,_ " He whispered her nickname softly like he wasn't deserving of saying it out loud. The Tunnel Snake felt like he was given passage to a place he never thought he'd find himself in—receiving the affections that came with being someone she considered remarkably close to her. Only Amata and Jonas called her that. Paul slipped it once. Butch always called her by one of many colorful names inspired by her hair or intelligence or craftiness, and then her last name when they became friends in secret. Even _rarer_ did he call her by her first name.

To be given permission to call her _Winnie,_ he felt a shifting of the cosmos between them.

And he had to have her.

 _Now._

" _Say_ _ **mercy**_ _for me,"_ He whispered, sounding more like he was begging for permission to continue than taking control of the situation and he pressed himself deeper between her thighs with a small forward rock of his hips, tilting her chin up with a thumb under the edge of her jaw, his palm cradling her cheek.

" _No._ " Winona replied, almost like a pouting child, as pressure built between the meeting of their hips as she pressed back against him, meeting the roll of his hips with her own. She was more wild in her movements, losing her typically reserved self, and he noticed.

" _C'mon, girl—you're practically_ _ **purrin'**_ _for it."_

" _And_ _ **you're**_ _not?"_ She said through a glib smile and heavy exhales. " _You broke first._ _ **You**_ _say it. Admit it."_

"You're a pain in the ass—always gotta make shit difficult," He grumbled as he lowered his head with his nose brushing along hers. Her hand cuffed the wrist of his hand that still cupped her face, her thumb slipping up the backside of his knuckles, and when her eyes looked back into his he saw a challenging fire burning inside them—and God dammit, _he_ knew that _**she**_ knew that she was winning. That she was the only one in this whole fucking tub who could _make_ him say _mercy._ She felt the shift that came between them, too.

"I consider it an _art form_ to annoy you," Winona announced with a throaty chuckle as she nuzzled her nose along his, her lips ghosting over his as if teasing him with the promise of another kiss, lingering _right_ _ **there—**_ " _You can say it, Butch. You can say_ _ **mercy**_ _for me."_

"You got me so fuckin' twisted—" He mumbled to himself in a complaint her ears barely caught, and her eyes connected with his, patient and expecting, and there wasn't any challenge within them. Only a gentle honesty, a promise of complete acceptance. To say he was twisted suddenly felt like the wrong word to use when he was _unraveling_ on the inside, feeling the plea rising in his throat, filling his mouth, and he actually _thought_ about allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of her for that one moment because he knew she wouldn't judge him—she never had, why would she now?—

And it finally spilled out, like a burdening breath he had been withholding, like a weight off his shoulders.

" _God dammit—_ _ **mercy.**_ " He exhaled breathlessly as he sent his mouth colliding into her own again in another kiss. His hand tilted her head back, making her arch against him, and when her leg hooked behind his hip and thigh to invite him to press more firmly against her, feeling the wanton grinding of her own hips, the Tunnel Snake knew that he was a fucking _goner._

* * *

Winona almost wished that she hadn't insisted on going back to the apartment right when things were _seriously_ getting heated—because if she was about to have sex for the first time, she didn't know how to rekindle the passion after having to press pause to find privacy. Would they just return where they left off? Would they awkwardly have to start all over again? She tried to convince herself to stop overthinking about unimportant matters like whether or not she should shower first or if she was even wearing a matching set of bra and panties, but the more she agonized over the situation the more her nerves skyrocketed above and beyond any point of return.

 _Yep,_ she should've just had sex with him on the billiards table and not cared about the possibility of someone finding them.

She looked at Butch, who was impatiently striding just ahead of her but not fast enough where she couldn't keep up, and she tightened her hand clutched around his for him to squeeze back in response, feeling the wedding band on his finger imprint itself on her hand. Her anxiety took center stage once more as they turned the corner down the living quarters hall and arrived at her front door, leaving her to wave it open with a shaking hand, flicking on the lights once the door shut behind them.

The inventor couldn't tell if the shaking was from the excitement, the boundless sexual tension, or the nerves.

 _...Does he know I've never had sex before?_ Winona wondered with a nervous flush warming her face as they stepped into her apartment. _Should I tell him? Should I not and pretend I **have? Would he figure it out** **anyways—?** Is it a totally dick move to not tell him just because I'm scar—_

The rest of her fussing thought died in her mind as she felt Butch's hands frame her hips to turn her around and he kissed her deeply. It was enough to startle her out of her anxiety-ridden thoughts—being swept up in the excitement of how aroused they both were, feeling like two opposing forces wanting only to conspire in the middle—and she returned it eagerly. Her hands snaked themselves around his neck with a grip on the folded collar of his leather jacket just to hold onto him as their mouths meshed together in an extended kiss, his own hands pulling her in against his firm body.

Her concerned thoughts were dampened to nothing as her mind was filled with a sensual mist, and her anxiety molded itself into something more manageable. Even as they moved back towards the pull out bed she felt a calmness overcoming her, and she briefly broke the contact of the kiss just to make sure she didn't embarrass herself by banging her knees on the metal frame or floundering in an unexpected fall onto it. She managed to take a seat on the edge with a metal squeaking under her weight as Butch remained standing in front of her, hurriedly yanking off his jacket to toss it unceremoniously behind him. His jumpsuit was zipped all the way down to his waist, meeting above the tenting that was tightly cupped by the industrial fabric, and once he unhooked his Pip-Boy from his arm with his hex key—being mindful enough to do the same to hers and she shot him with a sweet smile of thanks—he yanked his arms from the sleeves so the upper half of his jumpsuit was shed and hung at his hips.

After kicking off his boots he knelt with one knee on the bed beside Winona, where he reclined her back on the mattress to loom over her with is eyes alight with wild desire. His mother covered her own in another heated kiss that sent her thoughts scattering. She found her hands flittering down to the hem of his undershirt of their own instinctual accord, burying her hands underneath the thin cloth to appreciate the tenderness in his stomach and sides as his tongue dipped into the cavern of her mouth to meet with hers, moving eagerly, pressing hungrily. The purring of her jumpsuit zipper barely broke through their make out as his free hand pulled for the tab all the way down to the belt that cinched it to better fit her small frame, and the kiss remained unbroken as she removed her hands from under his shirt to help pull her arms out of the sleeves. _Stupid suits, who the fuck thought that these were **practical—** they're so **awkward—**_

Winona's puckered mouth immediately abandoned his own when she felt Butch pulling her undershirt upward, her hands gripping his wrists before he could even tug it over her naval.

"Bu- Butch, wait—" She interrupted in small alarm, but when he looked down at the inventor questioningly, she turned sheepish—feeling embarrassed, almost stupid, for the insecurity she felt in her small breasts and momentarily thought of just ignoring her discomfort so she wouldn't seem silly. "I—uh—... wa- wanna leave my shirt on..."

"Whatever 'ya want, baby," He replied certainly without any change in his face that suggested disapproval, or judgment, or scrutinizing of her request; but calling her baby caught her attention. It sent a throng of heat straight down her body to ring home between her legs and she almost clamped them together in response to the dampness pooling there, and the only thing keeping her from fully doing so was Butch's bent knee between her own, keeping them open.

 _"Thanks,"_ Winona mumbled in genuine relief as Butch's mouth migrated toward her throat to press blazing, open mouthed kisses along where her throat bobbed in a hard swallow. Each kiss felt like it was soothing away her worries, leaving her notion of 'being stupid' to ebb silently away.

When she felt the blunt edge of his teeth in a teasing graze before the delicious suction of possessive hickies, which marred the side of her neck in a trail of red and purple, a building pressure of warmth began to tighten in the pit of her stomach. Her back arched and her clothed sex registered on his bent knee between her legs, sending a shivering thrill through the expanse of her body and she ground her hips helplessly against him, desperate to relieve that pressure. It only continued to build the more she gyrated and the more he toyed at every sensitive spot he found on her neck, leaving her to quiver and whine pathetically. Her intense arousal left her feeling blatantly empty with a heightened desire to be filled in any way she could, and she whimpered unevenly at the lost contact of Butch's knee as he lifted his weight off the bed, leaving her. Her eyes and mouth snapped open in protest just in time to witness him unbuckling the belt around her waist to drop it on the floor, pulling her jumpsuit the rest of the way down her legs with the removal of her boots.

 _"Need it bad—don'cha, girlie?"_ He teased, followed by a stumbled mutter of _'_ ** _holy shit_ '** to no one in particular at the sight of her arousal darkening her panties and she immediately clenched her thighs shut as her sheepishness returned to her, blushing furiously. "Hey, I ain't done with you yet—" He began to protest.

"Then don't stare like that! It's weird!" She cried with a bashful laugh as her closed knees drew into her abdomen in a partial fetal position while still remaining on her back, grabbing at one of his many pillows to hit him with.

"Fine, where _else_ am I gunna stare, huh? Guess I'll just stare at the ceilin' the whole time," He said with a laugh as he bat the pillow away. "What, you gettin' all _shy_ on me now, professor? Now that ain't like you."

Through a fleeting lapse of clarity in her all encompassing desire, Winona again considered telling him the truth about her virginity as their silly back and forth kept her comfortably buoyed above her worries. In that same thought she had of divulging truth, however, she wanted to sarcastically counter him (because at this point it was basically on _reflex_ ) just so she could further hide her insecurities away from his prying gaze.

 _"I ain't good at this kinda stuff... bein' patient and whatever, but I **wanna** be good t'you,Win."_ He spoke when her silence validated his teasing and his words came like a murmured promise in the back corner of a room full of people—secretive and touching, his reassurance warming. _"Just lemme in—just the one time."_

Winona's hand outstretched itself for the Tunnel Snake and he leaned himself over her again, his jaw finding the cradle of her palm. She lured him into a quick kiss with her legs uncurling from her body to rest against the bed, thighs still clamped together under him as he settled on a forearm beside her head. She was filled with a resolute trust in him and his words, and it stamped out any remaining fight she felt with her anxiety, where it was instead replaced by an excitement as his fingertips drummed against the top of her thigh, inching towards the private junction of her thighs. Winona permitted him entry with the parting of her knees as her hand moved from his jaw, hooking behind his neck to keep him close as she led him into a more impassioned kiss, feeling her body reacting intensely with her sex throbbing with aching need in her underwear. When she felt his fingers gliding themselves over her damp panties, the shock that wracked through her lower body forced a sharp inhale into his mouth.

Butch's deft fingers worked slowly, _deliberately,_ being surprisingly patient in his enjoyment. In her distraction of his stroking fingers her lips moved laxly with their kiss until he took dominance over it—his mouth having been soft at first but hardening with a fervency as his fingers moved toward the waistband of her panties to pry his hand under it. The ache of lost connection lasted for only a second before his fingers delivered a a blissful sweetness that came with them pressing coyly against her dripping entrance, slicking his digits in her juices with a languid caress of his middle finger against her clit that made her hips jerk in sensitivity with a keening moan. He broke from the kiss with a self aggrandizing smile and as he circled his fingertip around her clit once more to pull another moan from her, just to steal it off her tongue with his mouth on hers again, his tongue coiling past her lips to make contact with her own.

The inventor didn't think she could overcome how _criminally **good**_ his kisses were, prodding at something primal deep within her belly, like it was intentionally searching for something to awaken; her thoughts were swimming far away, practically chased right out of her brain when all she could feel was the blissful haze of pleasure overcoming her and how desperate he felt, his hands gentle yet devoted to exploring further, making her feel cared for. Wanted. _Irresistible._

Butch's mouth moved back down to her neck to return to it the same treatment as earlier—his suckling lips and nibbling teeth easing from her dark skin love bruises and possessive marks—and just as Winona was about to complain that he was tormenting her to the point of madness, his fingers slipped in between the folds of her sex, slick and soft as satin in her excitement, to press one curling finger inside her. Her toes immediately buckled into the bed at the intrusion with the delicious push and slow _pull_ of his digit laboring at soothing the knot inside her. Relief flooded the inventor's lungs and it chased the moans she was too shy to vocalize right out of her throat.

" _Fuck—God—Butch,_ " Winona heaved in a whimper. After some working of his finger inside her, he picked up easily on the way her body moved; like when she tried to gyrate her hips against his hand to coax his ministrations into _just_ the right spot, he was perceptive enough to see what she wanted and would align his finger accordingly.

" _'Ya make it sound so **good.**_ " He admitted through his own laborious breathing, and when she opened her eyes, she couldn't help but shyly retreat her stare somewhere else when she realized he was, _very intently,_ watching her face. _" **Look** at me."_ Butch demanded, and she couldn't help but draw her gaze back toward his.

With a pecking kiss pressed to her cheek, he spoke again, and his voice was commanding despite the blatant aching need it held.

 _"Look at me when you say my name."_

" _ **Butch,**_ " She answered with her eyes locked dutifully with his own, and just as she was losing herself to the steadiness of his pumping digit and the lightning serenity in his blue eyes, her obedience was rewarded with the retrieving of his finger from inside her to be replaced with the accompaniment of a second one.

His fingers, having been thicker than her own in times when she masturbated, were greeted with minor resistance that kept him from reaching as deeply as his first finger had. Feeling herself stretch around them in accommodation, coupled with how fucking _arousing_ it was to hear the sloppy noises of them working her insides, made her knees buckle once his thumb began tracing shapes over her swollen clit in unison with his insistent fingers. It didn't take much more stroking to hurdle the inventor towards her rapidly building orgasm once he found a rhythm that her body graciously reacted to; one where he churned his digits in just the right spot with the drawing of slow circles between the pumping, and each new feminine sound that spilled from her betrayed her more than the one that came before it. Her erotic moans steadily reached higher in note as she became dangerously aware of her impending euphoric end and she grew insatiable in reaching for it.

If Butch made her orgasm before she had the chance to be filled properly by him, however, she'd _**never**_ _forgive him for it._

Winona didn't know if he could sense this from her or if it was pure coincidence, but he pulled his fingers slowly out of her with one last grind of the pad of his thumb against her clit that had her jerking sensitively. Her legs quaked against the bed with curled toes as she stifled a whine, her head lifting from the mattress to look up at him desperately as his hand recoiled from her underwear, his fingers glistening with her want. Amusement passed through his eyes at the strangled noise of complaint she made as she propped herself back on her elbows, at attention as he straightened up on his knees with a protesting squeal of the metal bed frame under them. He unzipped his suit the rest of the way down over the tenting and between the teeth of the zipper was the heavy outline of his cock straining inside his boxers. Her eyes alone could appraise the proportionate weight of his girth—a seemingly perfect size, not too big with a delicate curve to it—and something about it made her mouth water, feeling the immediate effects her desire had as it reinvigorated the wetness that spilled between her thighs with new life.

Soon he eased himself out of his boxers, his aching cock bobbing free from its confines, and an almost panicked excitement momentarily seized her heart at the realization that _that_ was going to be _**inside**_ her. _**He**_ was going to be _inside_ her.

Butch noticed her attentive gaze tracing the shape of his member, and was soon fighting his way out of the rest of his vault suit when she rolled back on the bed with her knees up in the air, shimmying herself out of her panties. With the way his eyes were entranced by the sight of her soaked sex below a small patch of coily white hair, she was immediately pricked by the thorns of self-scrutiny and wished she had kept the lights off. It should've been her first and only defense against his intent gaze. At the same time, however, the way his eyes lingered on her—starved and thankful—his mouth parting, tongue licking along his dried lips as his Adam's apple bobbed thickly—his cheeks emblazoned with an aroused blush—she knew the way he looked right now was something she wouldn't be able to get out of her head for weeks.

The Tunnel Snake was on her again with his bare hips wedged between her thighs, pinning one of her legs against the bed with a hand under her knee and the other was bent against his side, framing his hip. With their positioning she immediately felt the overwhelming heat of his stiff member grinding itself against her slick sex. It skimmed over the swollen bundle of her nerves that was her clit and she swore that she may have had a mini, fluttering orgasm just from the contact because she momentarily couldn't find where her mind had run off to as her eyes drew shut.

" _You ready for it, baby?_ " Butch asked huskily, but his question felt like it held more than just dirty talk—and when she dared to open her eyes again, he was staring down at her, pleading and yet controlled as he waited for her answer.

He was asking for permission.

Winona nodded briskly as her hand hooked behind his neck with her thumb framing his ear, pulling his face in closer to skim her lips over his Adam's apple with her other hand resting against his lower back, gliding tentative fingertips up his side and along the back of his ribs where his muscles flexed under her touch; she cursed this desire, of wanting to touch him everywhere there was skin waiting to be scorched by her lips and tongue and teeth, and yet she didn't have enough hands or mouths. When did she start feeling like this? Feeling like she couldn't have enough of him? When did she start _wanting_ him in this way?

 _" **I'm yours.**_ " She muttered against his ear in steadfast affirmation and topped it off with her lips capturing his earlobe, sucking lightly before letting it slip back from her mouth with the scrape of her teeth. There was a weight to her words that she decided needed further exploration at a later time, because right _now_ wasn't it, when she felt like she was going to lose control over her body at any second and her mouth would go with it—saying things she shouldn't say, powered by her lust. It felt too comfortable, too natural, like she was meant to be here, pinned underneath him, helpless and wanting him beyond all desire—

Luckily she didn't have to worry about it for even a second longer, because at her admission Butch was already breaching her entrance. His thick member, sleek with her juices, entered her easily until he met tight resistance several inches in, and he released a prolonged groan under his breath with a crinkled brow, dewy with sweat. Winona shifted her hips to get a bit more settled, the way he stretched her equal parts uncomfortable and pleasurable. As young girls they were told the first time was supposed to hurt, and she was fully prepared for it—so to feel how perfectly he fit inside her, so mind-numblingly _good_ with only some discomfort, was a welcomed surprise.

" _I love it,_ " She mumbled absentmindedly as he tried to hold himself steady, and she could see his self control was hanging by a single unraveling thread, causing a lust drunk grin to spread across her blushing face. Winona relished in how Butch looked at her right now, like nothing else existed and nothing was as good as her, as her eyes filled with glistering stars.

"What?" He questioned, seeming too distracted to have heard her.

" _Love how you feel inside me—_ " She admitted, still absentminded, as if she didn't realize she was saying these things out loud and her confession spurned him into action; when he withdrew his hips she was plagued by such a delicious friction it made her eyes roll back and her back arch, her cunt aching for more.

"God dammit—don't say shit like that, Parker," He warned tightly as he thrust his hips back into her and she whimpered with the grin still on her face, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her gaze stared off into nothing, trained on the ceiling. Winona threw her arms around his neck to pull him in closer and he graciously complied, burying his face in the nook of her shoulder and neck like it was home with his sweaty forehead pressed to her super heated skin, and her nails walked down his spine, making him shiver at the contact as he entered her again and again in steady rhythm.

Everything felt perfect. Again, _too natural._

" _You're perfect._ " She spoke against his hair, her whispering breath tickling his ear, and she felt his broad shoulders and toned back stiffen under her arms. Suddenly he was driving his hips back into her with a tempered impatience, driving as deeply as he could without hurting her, and every thrust chipped away at the sanity that was keeping her grounded. She was floating away, to somewhere where he was the only tether keeping her from disappearing all together, and yet all at once she was _here;_ her hand digging into his shoulder blades, the other settling against the curve of his lower back to goad him into moving faster, once she was relaxed enough to take more of him, her leg pressed against his side hooking a foot over his thigh to keep his pelvis pinned against her, silently telling him that he wasn't getting away even if he wanted to run for the hills.

From the way he openly groaned into her neck, spilling incoherent threats of making her come again and _again_ and **_again_ **until she was begging him to stop—he didn't seem to have any objection to that.

Butch continued in an insatiable dance, his hips churning her insides until she felt every nerve sparking with liquefied electricity, feeling a live wire coiling inside her of concentrated pleasure and she couldn't help but constrict tightly around him. Every time he drove his cock back into her it drew a little more pleasure out, doing very little to release the pressure in her abdomen, and she didn't realize until that moment that he was coaxing loud moans out of the bowels of her lungs, which rung back to her ears off the metal walls of her living room. Her leg hooked over his hips, drawing in tighter when his mouth moved from her throat to plant it against her own. Their teeth nearly clattered together in their open mouthed kiss as his tongue reached for hers, and when they tangled together passionately, she could feel it drawing every breath out of her until she couldn't breathe.

All she could do was sob against his lips, her eyes rolling back under fluttering eyelids as the driving of his hips became more relentless, the pull of his cock coming in shorter strokes and she could feel her end coming as fatally near as his own was. The inventor could feel him trying to alleviate the tight twisting build of his finish by slowing his speed, softening his movements, and her hand against his back moved to grip his hip, trying to provoke him into finishing with fingers that dug in needily.

 _"No, no, no, no, no—_ " Winona pleaded brokenly on a high whine when she retreated from the kiss, and his mouth pressed to her collar bone with the clipping of his teeth. _"C'mon, no, **please—** "_

 _"I needa minute—shit, girl—"_ Butch insisted but she was pushing his hips against her own, gyrating with her silken core clamping on his length and he vocalized his frustration—and appreciation—with an almost lyrical groan as he forced his hips still, his body pressing against hers so she couldn't move her own hips, either. _" **Woman** ,_" He warned, but it was weak with masculine want. _"Knock it off, I'm gonna burst. Waited for this for too damn long—"_

" _I want it inside me,"_ She begged dizzily. _"Butch, **please,** I'm so close—I **need** you—"_

 _" **...Say that again,** "_ He spoke with his soft lips ghosting over the base of her throat, his voice sounding almost surprised and certainly tender despite the growl that followed. _"Tell me you need me."_

 _" **I need you.** I need you so badly—"_ She repeated unabashedly, the final word cut short as a moan was ripped from her. His hips rammed thoughtlessly against her, _just_ rough enough where it built a curling friction inside her and in only one more driving thrust her vision went bleary and the pit in her gut was released—blazing endless trails of euphoria down her legs from hips to toes under the sweeping force of her orgasm and she shuddered fitfully under him. Her walls confined his almost fully sheathed length in one flittery convulsion after another, feeling the pleasure being chased out of her to leave nothing in its wake but a beautiful, moonlit afterglow.

Butch quickly jumped from the ledge seconds shy of her own orgasm, her leg over his hips keeping them flush against hers with no hope of pulling out, and jets of warmth flooded her insides with each small, lurching thrust as he exhaled deeply with a shuddery grunt of release. She could feel his body tightening under her arms again and she stroked his hair soothingly, cradling him against her breast when he was finished with an ear pinned over her thrumming heart. The inventor could feel the warmth in his panting breaths even through her undershirt.

The two remained comfortably sprawled out on the pull out couch, Butch lethargically draped atop her and his body weighing down on Winona's felt comfortable—easy, _forever_ —as her hands continued carding themselves through his hair and their breathing slowed to normal levels. They reveled silently in the pleasure as it seeped away to exhaustion along with the afterglow.

No one told her how messy, and sweaty, and sticky you could feel afterward. She could see herself getting use to it, although a hot shower sounded _amazing_ right now but she was too content (and too tired) to move.

Butch slowly withdrew himself from her, with the intention of being gently careful, and he rolled his weight off of her to lay on his back beside her, rocking the couch. She opened her eyes and looked to him, trying to get the discreet trembling of her legs to cease, and with the blinding luxury of her arousal having been drained out of her, she found a certain sheepishness creeping back into her. What did they do now? Go to sleep? Talk? Were there things she had to address? There shouldn't have been a doubt in her mind that he enjoyed himself or that she was good, but still, her thoughts lingered on wondering if their love making was quality.

Again, the thoughts were shushed out of her mind as his arm curled under her to pull her against his side, her head resting against his bare chest and shoulder. She ventured further by straddling a leg over his naked body and his cheek lolled toward the top of her head lazily, his breathing easy and content though there was a dragging exhaustion to them as his fingertips pressed keen shapes against her bicep where they settled.

She coiled her fingers through his chest hair idly and allowed her eyes to draw shut, sinking her body against his as she relaxed, feeling the worries sagging off her bones like a relief.

"...Aren't'cha glad 'ya said mercy first?" Butch questioned with a drained playfulness and she guffawed quietly, pulling slightly on his chest hair in retaliation. He grunted in disapproval, but otherwise made no move to stop her.

"Mnm. _Too tired to be sarcastic._ " She mumbled drowsily with her jaw clamping around a yawn to keep it from emerging as she nuzzled herself closer into his side. He reacted with his arm pulling tighter around her, feeling almost possessive.

" _...I don't wanna be 'that square',_ " He began after a pregnant pause, sounding cautious. "But you're on somethin', right?"

"Hmn—?" Her thoughts were too sluggish to register on what he was asking. " _Oh._ Yeah, I'm on birth control." She pat his face tiredly with a broad hand in mock reassurance and he snorted in contained laughter, slapping her hand off harmlessly.

"How'd you get a hold of _birth control?_ You stealin' that too?" Butch poked jokingly.

" _Har-har._ No, I didn't _steal_ it." She didn't want to admit that she was on birth control in off and on torrents for years while she was with Freddie—but hell, she didn't want to think about him at _all,_ and so swiftly changed her story without much thought. "Jonas gave me a pallet, said to come back if I needed a refill. Write it up as an inventory mix up or something. You can thank him in the morning."

"I'll send him a care package. He like flowers?" He inquired with outspoken amusement and she chuckled sleepily with a small smile on her face.

"On second thought, maybe I'll just thank him for the both of us. I can be _discreet._ " She decided and he pulled her in just to plant a firm kiss against her forehead, and the feel of his lips against her skin for a lingering moment made her heart flutter warmly.

 _"'Discreet' like the Overseer jerkin' it on Founder's Day."_

"First things first, _gross,_ and to quote you— _ **low blow.** "_

"I learned from the best."

Soon, with the steady rise and fall of Butch's chest, Winona could tell that he had fallen into a serene sleep underneath her with his cheek still laid against the top of her head. She stayed up for some time longer—calmed by the sound of his heartbeat under her ear and the inviting warmth of his bare body against hers—and she came to a contemplative state of mind. Things would be different between them now, she felt the ground shifting under her feet the moment she dared to kiss him in the Game Room, and it was too soon for her to say if that change could become something better or something that would damn them beyond a salvageable relationship. Now, she was too cautious, too _careful,_ to want to delve any deeper into it because overthinking was a thief of her happiness more often than not; she'd overthink and the completely irrational scenarios that were conjured up in her head never happened, leaving her worrying and agonizing over nothing. This time probably wasn't any different than all the other times she over thought about something and so she didn't want to fling herself off the ship before she was prodded out onto the dead man's plank with tied hands.

But there was a happy glow that cradled her heart that she couldn't ignore, that made her think— _no way_ , but _maybe,_ but _possibly,_ and then _certainly_ —she was feeling some type of strong way about Butch DeLoria. That was the only part of her thoughts that didn't seem to worry her in the slightest as she finally chased after him into a deep sleep, her thumb rotating her wedding band thoughtfully around her finger.


End file.
